#I think it's too big/scratchy for her to have swallowed but every day I wonder more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kyberphilosopher · 4 years

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Lᴇx Tᴀʟɪᴏɴɪꜱ

Word Count: 3285

Warnings: graphic descriptions of gore, manga spoilers following the 4th line of stars.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life.

"An eye for an eye" (Biblical Hebrew: עַ֚יִן תַּ֣חַת עַ֔יִן‎) or the law of retaliation (Latin: lex talionis) is the principle that a person who has injured another person is to be penalized to a similar degree by the injured party.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Gone. Your eye, was gone.

There was no warning, no time given for you to say your farewell. You didn’t have the time to even register what was about to happen. You had seen him, heard the bells and then...

Well, you must’ve known what the price for this was going to be to some degree. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have bothered, would you? So, there in lies the catch. All the feelings going through your brain right now are based on your own individual decision, and the only person responsible for the consequences of that decision is you.

“Come on, you have to eat, Y/N,” Historia practically sobs. She holds a spoon with a glop of banana colored mush on it, hoping to slip it in between your lips so you can just accept some kind of sustenance. But you don’t, and you won’t. You haven’t since the incident. “Please.”

You don’t say anything to the girl. You don’t even meet her eyes. You only stare at your own lap, giving her a nice view of your long, soft, sad eyelashes. The gauze wrapped around half of your head is threaded between pieces of your hair messily, and your shoulders have the hunch of that of defeat.

Historia closes her pink lips, and puts the spoon back in the wooden bowl. “You just eat whenever you’re ready, then,” she tells you softly, and she places it on the nightstand to your right. Although she is young and nurturing, she doesn’t dare push you. The petite girl closes the door behind her, wondering if it would’ve been better to shove the food down your throat.

It wouldn’t have mattered. You probably would’ve just stuck your own fingers down your esophagus as well, and then the banana mush never would’ve even reached your stomach.

It felt like you’d misplaced something very important. It feels like something is missing. Something you’d been tasked to protect since birth, and had formed a friendship with. And now it was gone, and you had failed both the friendship and yourself. Your left eye wasn’t something you could just grow back, either. Once it’s gone, it’s gone for good. And now it’s gone for good.

Your head lifts up slowly, and you’re allowed to catch a glimpse of yourself in the wooden mirror across the room. It doesn’t take long for the loathing to boil inside of you like venom.

The one good eye you have is rung with tired darkness. A maroon, chestnut brown shade of gray lingers right under your bottom lashes starkly. The same lashes are tiredly clumped together in a particularly unflattering way. The right half of your face feels ice cold, and the left magma hot. The bandages around your head have scrunched up pieces of your hair, and they rub against your cheeks tightly at any slight movement. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least. But the slightest thought of what these bandages cover makes you want to scream your throat bloody.

The moment you pull the gauze away is the moment you see the socket of your own eye, exposing it to infection and dirty air. You’ll see a hole, a stark reminder of the missing something that you’ll never be able to replace. You might as well have a hole in your ridiculous heart at this point.

And it was for what?

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The bells rang every time you thought of him.

Sometimes they were loud, but usually they were soft. You hadn’t heard them since childhood, but you couldn’t place the exact context of them. You knew, at least, that they were made of bronze, but that didn’t help much at all. And now that had appeared in your head again, and they were fused to the man you’d taken a bullet for.

Historia and Hange seemed to be the only two who would visit you regularly. You’d see other comrades of yours in the next room when the door was open, but you had a preference for keeping it closed. Besides those two, you knew Armin and that Mikasa girl had been in your room as well. Sasha Blouse once came to take the food you hadn’t eaten. There was a vague memory of Connie Springer in your room, but you had been too preoccupied with hiding your face to receive a complete vision.

Nobody really saw you for days. You kept yourself buried in the scratchy blankets, ashamed of what you had done to yourself. You accepted no food. Questions began to arise of whether or not you were regularly bathing anymore. At least you were able to take yourself to the chamber pot when needed, but you refused to look at your reflection on any surface. Otherwise, you feared you’d hear the bells again.

Through everyone that had at least come to check on you once, he never had. You saw no signs of him at all around the area. You couldn’t feel his presence in your room at any single moment. At was almost as if the man had become a ghost, and maybe he had. Maybe this was another missing piece you’d have to live with, and maybe it was also bound in permanence.

You lost your eye, so that he could keep his life. And he hadn’t even thought to show up.

Not that you wanted to see him. If he had thought to show up, you hadn’t a clue what you would’ve said. You couldn’t explain your own actions, and you couldn’t ask him to avenge your loss. As you’d come to terms with before, this was all your doing. This was the consequence of your choice. Whatever consequences are born from that original consequence- well... that was on you too.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Y/N, when was the last time you ate?” Historia frowns, her shoulders sinking with sympathy.

You stare at your lap still, with one good eye steady as it’ll ever be.

“It doesn’t matter,” you answer after a moment, voice low.

“What are you talking about?” the girl questions, the corners of her eyes pricking with tears. “Of course your health matters. You saved our lives out there.”

And there they are. The bells.

You’re a fool. You can’t do anything right, can you?

“I’m not hungry.”

“Please,” Historia practically wheezes. “For me. Just a bite.”

You still don’t move. You blink slowly, mesmerized by the dust particles you can see from the light of the setting sun, which streams through the glass of the windows behind you.

In a flat, firm, low tone, you tell her simply. “No.”

She inhales sharply, as if she was keeping herself from tears. And you’re not doing it to make her feel like she’s not a human, or someone you distrust. It’s because with the loss of your eye comes a deep, dark hatred for yourself that you didn’t know human beings could even possess. To put it simply, you didn’t think you deserved to eat.

Historia’s chair scoots against the floor. You see her movement out of the corner of your eye, and hear the old floorboards creak under what little weight she possesses. Then you feel even more hatred towards yourself for wasting her time and making her feel the same way that you had.

Well, you’re certain you don’t deserve to eat now.

There’s mumbling by the doorway.

“She told me she wouldn’t... Just seems really out of it lately... I tried to... Okay.”

Historia’s pretty little golden head disappears from your room and around the corner, out of sight. Instead, there is another figure in the doorway, facing you.

The bells come back.

“I heard you wouldn’t eat,” the smooth voice calls to you. You can hear his footsteps against the wood.

They’re getting loud.

“Did you not hear me? I’m talking to you.”

You lift your tired head up. Your right eye, pupil big with dilation as if you were high off pain, drowns out all other color. Your face is pale, half sweaty. You’re sick, inside and out.

Immediately, your mouth is forced open. Something hits the back of your throat roughly, and your teeth sink down from being stuffed.

Levi shoves the piece of bread further into your face. It scuffs against all corners of your maw, dry crumbs falling down to your stomach. Your taste buds explode with an overwhelming dusty flavor after having nothing for days. It almost burns. But despite the wet scoffs you give off from gagging against the material, the man doesn’t back down or away.

“Are you gonna eat it yourself? Or will I have to force this down your throat?” he questions- no- demands an answer from you. You’ve closed your eye from the contact, and it’s gone blurry from the abruptness of the situation. But you can picture your comrades face clear as day.

His gray eyes will be narrow as usual. His expression will be set in stone. He will not hesitate or falter to do as he has said, and he won’t feel bad about it either. You know this. And you’re right, too. The man is steady as ever, and if anyone was ordered to guess what he was thinking, they wouldn’t have a clue on how to read him.

No. You won’t eat. You can’t stop yourself from feeling sick at the very thought of rewarding yourself. Levi creases his eyebrows slightly, and his fingers press the piece of food farther down your esophagus. Now it’s hurting.

“I guess I will then,” Levi speaks out.

You don’t have a choice. Every time your gag reflex tries to push the bread away, Levi’s palm is there to keep it in place. It burns and hurts, and you wonder if bread like this has the ability to make your soft inner skin bleed. You concede.

Your teeth bite down fully, breaking off a fair portion of the roll. It makes your jaw sore from the weight of it, and Levi’s hand doesn’t move away. He watches your movements closely, making sure that you’re doing what you appear to be. He won’t take the chance.

After chewing for what must be a lengthy forty-five seconds, you hold the mushed pieces of dough on the back of your tongue. You can’t do it. You can’t make yourself eat.

“Swallow it,” Levi orders from above you, his voice cold and commanding.

You concede again.

The dough slips down in pieces, aided by saliva and awaited by your empty tummy.

Levi finally pulls the remaining half of bread away from your lips, but doesn’t change his position of standing over you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he mutters as he places himself in Historia’s former seat.

Your good eye opens and looks over at him, still glossy from budding tears. You feel out of breath. Your nose has gone pink. God, he could’ve suffocated you right then and there.

Levi’s face is still and calm as always. His frown is ever present, and his dark hair falls the same. The only thing out of place is the fact that he stands out of uniform, in a white button up, cravat, dark vest and dress jacket. On another day, you would’ve thought it looked nice on him. Today, you have to try not to vomit all over it.

He reaches for a wooden bowl that Historia left on the nightstand earlier. It’s filled with that banana colored mush she keeps insisting you eat. When Levi takes it into his hands, his nose inhales a little whiff.

“Well, no wonder you won’t eat this,” he says, staring down into it. “It smells like shit.” Then, he takes the spoon from inside, and raises it into the air. “Open wide.”

No. There’s no way in hell.

The bells are loud as you turn your head the other way. You can’t bear the sight of him, or food.

“If you won’t take it,” Levi frowns angrily, “I’ll have no problem forcing it into you again.”

Who fucking cares, Levi? Just please, stop looking at me.

Your left hand reaches up to the bandages over what used to be your eye. You fit your palm over it in shame, as if that would keep him from noticing what had become of you.

“It’s been a week since this happened, and you haven’t talked about it to anybody,” you hear Levi say. “Hange says you’re not taking your medicine, either.”

Shut up. Shut up. Please, the bells are so loud.

Cold fingers against your own turn to warm ones. Levi’s digits pat your own off your face, and then around your ear to find where the bandage ends.

Your opposite hand reaches up to catch his wrist softly, asking him to stop without saying a word.

Levi pauses for a moment, watching you stare off into space with exhaustion. Then he shakes your hand away gently, and continues his movement.

His nails scrape against the end of the rope. Then he peels the bandage back, and it begins falling away from your head in a circle. Loop by loop, a layer of gauze strays away from your face. The anticipation of seeing what’s underneath is brewing inside of the man slowly, while the depression of knowing what’s to come has made you quiet as a stone.

Finally, the last layer lays against your skin. Once Levi’s fingers pull this away, you’ll be bare to him. He’ll be able to see what you lost, but never locate it. Just as you have.

Levi continues.

The gauze falls away at last, revealing what had been covered.

His eyes widen, both of them. You can’t say the same.

Where your left eye once was was now a hole. It had layers, and he could see the socket underneath all of them. But it’s ridged and dark, almost as if it were burned. Some parts of your eye are black, others deep purple. There are traces of smeared blood around the edges it all. And, quite frankly, it looks almost glossy with some type of ooze.

“Does it look bad?” you whisper finally, still staring off into nothingness.

Levi tenses up, staring into the void. In all honesty, it looks absolutely horrific. Even if it was properly cleaned and patched up, it would be disgusting. It must be one of the most gruesome things Levi has ever seen- and he’s seen plenty of gruesome things.

“When the bastard shot at you,” Levi begins with a calm voice, “did it hurt?”

Kenny Ackerman. The bastard.

You don’t say a single word for a full minute. “No,” you finally decide. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

Humanity’s strongest breathes out through his nose with stress, but it’s silent. “What possessed you to do this, then?”

You’re silent once more. You’d always been a little on the quieter side of things, for as long as Levi had known you. But this was different. This was sad, and still, and devoid of life. He considers just walking away with acceptance of knowing he won’t get anything out of you.

“I just thought,” your voice comes out hoarse, “it was either you or me.”

Dark pupils dilate, grey irises enlarge. “You took the shot for me.”

The eye on the right blinks slowly. “I didn’t want you to die.”

Levi goes completely still. His shoulders square and the muscles in his back tense. The inside of his mouth melts dry, and the only thing moving in the room are the specks of dust illuminated by the light.

“I see.”

He remembers it all so clearly. He saw the flash of Kenny’s gun, weighed his chances of living. A hand pushes his face up from his jaw and he’s shoved backwards. The nails of his assailant had cut into his skin, but his life had been spared in the process.

Instead of recounting this, Levi prompts, “What made you think that was a good idea?”

You don’t answer at all, which doesn’t surprise the stoic man. He’s not sure he would, either. But he wonders if it’s because you know the answer, or because you don’t.

“Why didn’t you come to visit me, Levi?”

A soft breeze races into the room. Strands of your hair glint and swirl softly. “I thought you would’ve been here sooner.”

The truth was that Levi just didn’t want to see you. But that was because he knew the answer to why. What possible explanation could the man have given you that justified your sacrifice? How would he have shown his appreciation, or annoyance, or simple thankfulness that you’d even survived?

Your long, slim fingers run against each other in short, little pats, almost like a child. “Is it because you hate me I wonder?” Then, your face looks up to the ceiling, exposing your throat to the air. “No. You can’t hear them, can you?”

“Hear what?” Levi knits his brows in question.

“You hear them so often at funerals,” you continue, ignoring Levi’s inquiry. “Or weddings. Or homecomings.”

Y/N is out of it, Levi decides. I’ll get nothing out of her.

“If I don’t bother asking, will you just eat?”

“...funerals...”

Levi picks up the bowl of shit scented banana mush, and runs the spoon through it. With a hefty pile in the dip, he lifts it up, and slips it in between your unaware lips. You don’t struggle, and you even chew and swallow. The corners of your mouth upturn softer than softly after Levi gives you two more bites. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”

Levi doesn’t have the heart to ask what you’re talking about. Though he suspects it might be the prospect of your own funeral, he says nothing. Your death isn’t something he’s keen on thinking about. Not with all the time he’s spent trusting in you, admiring in you. It’s painful to imagine a life without you present, or even beside him. But now you’ve forced the idea onto him because of your own selflessness. At this, Levi concludes that it should’ve been him who took the shot, not you.

“We can talk about what’s not so bad after you eat.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Levi touches his palm to the bandage over his right eye. Gone. Gone for good.

Why do I have to think of her now? he asks himself, replaying the image of your ghastly missing piece over. Is this how she felt?

Like something’s missing? Questioning if the loss of something so valuable was worth it? You hadn’t questioned it for a second. If Levi had asked you if having your eye blown out for him was a fair price for his survival, you both knew what you would’ve answered in a heartbeat. Maybe he should’ve before you had died.

As the wagon bumps on the rickety dirt road, the soldier clenches the fingers he has left. His head drops back, and he looks up to the pale blue sky. Dark hair brushes against his nape, green cloak sticky with blood. Through the eye he can see out of, he makes out a cloud in the shape of you, and listens to the distant ringing of the bell.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I hope everyone who reads this is in bittersweet pain. Happy holiday season.

Also if anyone has any ideas on how to write Levi better please let me know. I think I captured his character okay, but I want to do him justice. pullup hoe.

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sisorsig · 3 years

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Three in a bed | Owen x reader x Charlie

a/n: so, basically it’s my first time writing a smut, I don’t really like it but my friends did and wanted me to post it. This is my first time so like.. be nice?

Description: y/n gets broken up with and becomes bold. All her boldness turns into sex

Warning: smut and language

(This is not to make anyone disgusted, that’s why there is a warning, so don’t start writing anything rude to me or anyone) Have a nice day! :)

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Bubby<3(Charlie)

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C: Hey, Owen and I were

wondering if you wanted

to hang?

Where?

C: Oh, yeah. Shit. Owen's place.

I would enjoy it. Bryce broke

up with me and I've been a

little upset.

C: You okay? You definitely

need to come over

I'm horny

C: Stop texting me weird stuff

so late at night

I'm just gonna come over

C: Okay, weirdo...

——————————————————————————

"Hey, y/n!" Owen yelled happily, opening the door. "Hey," I softly said, walking past him. I slid off my jacket, placing down my black coach purse.

"What's up with her?" Owen whispered over to Charlie. "You know her and Bryce?" Owen nodded, trying to follow along. "Well, they broke up." Owen did a little frown at Charlie's words.

"Do you know what's on her shirt?" Owen pointed over to her as she stood staring at them. Charlie shook his head, messing with his fingers.

"Um, uh," Owen lifted his hand again, clearing his throat. "Why are you whispering?" I furrowed my eyebrows. "Y-your- um shirt," I looked down, gagging.

"I forgot about that," I quickly rushed to the bathroom that was on the left. I looked up in the mirror that had black cabinets. "Stupid dog," I threw off my top that had throw up on it.

I stood there staring at myself in my push-up bra. I reached over, grabbing a towel, trying my best to clean myself up. I looked down at my black shorts, seeing a little throw up, and taking them off quickly.

~Outside with the boys~

"Dude, d-did you see her?" Charlie tapped Owen's chest. "Y-you thinkin what I'm thinkin?" Owen's face lit up, nodding.

"Boobs," Charlie said, looking over at Owen. "Throw up," Owen said at the same time as Charlie, also looking over at him.

Owen furrowed his eyebrows, hitting Charlie in the chest. "What the fuck Charlie?" Charlie threw his hands up in defense. "What dude?" Owen scoffed, hitting Charlie again. "We have known her for years. She is our best friend, a-and you're looking at her tits?"

Charlie scoffed, realizing that little issue. As Owen was about to speak up to break the silence, the bathroom door opened up. Owen and Charlie gulped seeing the sight ahead of them.

"Y-you" Owen stuttered, freezing his words. "Why are you naked?" Charlie said in a lower pitched voice.

"Judging me?" I crossed my arms at their staring. Owen shook his head quickly, placing his hands behind his back. "N-nope," Charlie scratched the back of his neck.

"Are you gonna get me some clothes?" I walked over to them, taking a sip of the water that was on the table. Owen looked at me wide-eyed, trying not to move.

"Owen, you okay?" Charlie questioned, tapping his lower back. I looked up, catching Owen's eyes on me. "Close your eyes... Owen," I smirked, standing all the way up.

Charlie gave me a little look, having a little glare come into his eyes. "I-I- maybe I should get a- um- shirt for you?" Owen said as a question, trying to walk away.

I grabbed his arm, stopping him lightly. "Can I kiss you?" I randomly said, seeing Charlie clap his hands together.

Owen gulped, nodding. I grabbed his face, licking my lips lightly. I felt three hands creep onto my waist. I pushed all my weight onto Owen as I smacked away the other hand.

"Charlie, you will get your attention. Be patient," I gave him a flirty little look. I looked back at Owen, seeing him staring at me in awe.

"This isn't anything how I imagined tonight to go," Owen let out softly. I pushed my pink lips onto his, feeling his hands grasp my ass.

"Fuck, can we take this to the bedroom?" Charlie called out from the side. Owen bit my bottom lip, pulling it slightly, and earning a little moan from me.

He slipped his tongue in quickly, feeling his cold rings hit my waist and squeezing on me tightly. I felt two hands start to push me over to Owen's room. I smirked, knowing it was Charlie. Owen cupped my cheek, pushing back slowly, and smiling down at me.

Owen started pulling down his pants as I walked over to Charlie, trying to help his little squirms. "Can you just help me with this zipper?" Charlie put his hands behind his head, smirking lightly.

I scoffed playfully, sticking out my tongue as I focused on his gray zipper. I pulled it down, hearing a scratchy noise. Charlie continued to squirm out of his pants. I heard a little laughter from behind me, "I think you'll be happy to know that I'm not wearing any underwear." Owen pushed down his pants, out springing up a big, large, hard cock.

I gulped, looking down at it. He smiled, pulling off his shirt sexually. I looked him up and down, feeling Charlie's hand from behind me slide from my knee to my upper thigh. I felt butterflies tense in my stomach.

"I saw that. You just checked me out." Owen said, taking his clothes and threw them across the room. Charlie stood up from the little chair he sat on. He grabbed my waist, lifting me, and throwing me onto the bed.

Charlie laughed at my little gasp. Owen walked over to Charlie, lifting off his shirt for him. "I notice how your text is all of a sudden making you bold." Charlie smirked like Jeremy did in 'Julie and the phantoms' as Reggie.

I giggled, holding my hands over my stomach. I looked up seeing Owen tighten his grip on Charlie's dick. I felt myself fluster up, running my hands up and down my thighs.

Before I knew it, Charlie was pushing Owen back into the bed. He crawled over, kissing Owen harshly. Charlie reached over, placing a hand on my thigh, moving in closer to my clit.

He rubbed it slightly, removing his hand quickly, making me hiss at the loss. He took the hand that he had on me and started jerking off Owen slowly, still harshly kissing him.

He moved back, detaching his lips, leaning down to Owen's dick slowly. He started laying soft kisses on Owen's abs, making it down to his v-line. "Say please," Charlie said, lightly kissing Owen's tip.

Owen's body twitched under his touch. "C-Charlie, dude, please," he clenched his teeth together, grunting lightly. Charlie smirked at his best friend's face.

Charlie slowly put his lips on the tip. He sucked lightly, loving to see Owen whimper. Owen placed his hands on the back of Charlie's head, gripping his hair tightly. "Charlie, go," Owen nodded his head towards me. Charlie looked up, seeing me fingering my pussy, and holding back a whimper.

I threw my head back looking at them, Charlie smirked, sucking harder on Owen's tip. Owen pushed his hips up, making Charlie gag. I looked up from my sweaty face, pulling my fingers out of my pussy, and starting to rub my clit.

Owen took his hands that were still on Charlie's head, pushing him deeper. Charlie had saliva dripping out of his mouth, eyes bloodshot red. Owen wrapped his legs behind Charlie's back.

Owen reached over for my hand, trying to pull me over to him. But before he could, I hit a spot, making me choke out a moan, looking right at Charlie. Charlie pulled himself off of Owen, making owen give Charlie a disgusting glare. "Stop distracting me," Charlie said, eyeing me.

Owen took my wrist that was in my pussy, putting my fingers into his mouth, and pulling me closer. He started sucking on them lightly as Charlie started going back down on him. I took my open hand, put it over Owen's hand that was on Charlie's head, pushing him to the point where his nose was touching Owen's pubs.

Charlie gagged, tears threatening to fall from his face. I could honestly see Owen's dick hitting the back of Charlie's throat. Charlie's cheeks sucked so tight, trying to get anything from Owen. I took Owen's free hand that was holding onto the bedsheets tightly, and lead him to cuff my boob.

Owen inhales deeply, biting his lip. "I'm gonna cum," Charlie's face lit up, I could already tell he was gonna do a lot. Charlie unhooked one of his hands from Owen's thigh, lightly playing with Owen's right ball.

Charlie removed his mouth, again. He jiggled his balls a little in his hands before kissing Owen's tip unexpectedly. Owen's face lit up, soon coming out a white, warm liquid. I could tell Owen was embarrassed how easy he let go, so I kissed him.

I opened my eyes in between the kiss, looking down at Charlie, he was swallowing every last bit. Once he was finished, he pushed himself up off of Owen's thighs.

Owen released from the kiss, looking over at Charlie. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands," Charlie said, pointing to me. I furrowed my eyebrows, looking down at Owen. "Please," Owen said with his little green puppy dog eyes, pushing out his bottom lip.

"They're closed, what are y'all gonna do?" I questioned. I felt four hands carry me off the bed and put me down on my knees.

I heard Charlie do a little laugh. I felt two hard long objects touch me, bouncing on and off my face. "Oh," I let out playfully. I opened my eyes slowly, knowing Owen was gonna cum faster and easier, especially with what just happened.

I took both of their dicks in my hand, pushing the tips together as they moaned in sync. Owen started kissing Charlie all over his neck, trying to make him more sensitive. I took in Charlie just a little bit. I then took Owen in all the way. Jerking them off each time I did the other person.

Owen stuttered out a quiet moan. I went back to Charlie, sucking and working him off. I felt two hands, one being Charlie's and the other Owen, grab the back of my head.

They put both their dicks in my mouth, just the tip. I looked up, seeing little smirks. I mentally tried to prepare, but it was too late. Before I could react my head was being bobbed, up and down.

I was gagging as tears came crawling down my face. "We really do love her bro," Charlie said, kissing Owen's shoulder. I started to push through as my throat got sore. I felt numb, but a good kind of numb. I started sucking as hard as I could tasting their pre-cum spill from my lips.

I could hear the whimpers and feel the shakes from above me, I knew they were gonna let go any second. I put my hands back on, trying my best at least, and grabbed the very little parts that couldn't fit in my mouth.

Right as I did that, Owen released, no warning, nothing. I gagged as it spilled all over my breast and out my mouth. Owen took his out, jerking off to the side, just standing there watching me and Charlie.

I slid off, trying to catch my breath as Owen took his hand and pushed me back onto Charlie. "Gotta keep going, especially for Charlie. You shouldn't stop moving. He's almost done." Owen let out, breathing was limited. I nodded, sucking on his tip the best I could.

I felt a warm liquid shoot into the back of my throat, spit spilling everywhere as I tried swallowing it all. Charlie's cock twitched, leaving me gasping for air. They took me by my arms, lifting me.

"Your turn, baby," Owen and Charlie called out at the same time. I huffed already tired, but knowing it would be good. I climb up onto the bed, spreading my legs apart. Charlie jumped on excitedly and Owen just slid next to me, holding my thigh.

"Before we do this, let me get this straight," Owen gulped, nodding at me to finish. "Owen basically had two rounds, Charlie had one, and I have had none?" Charlie nodded, "but we aren't even close to being done, especially with you."

Charlie took my other thigh into his hand. They both licked their lips like they'd been starving for such a long time. "You guys just gonna sit there?" Charlie growled at my little comment, Owen knowing what he was gonna do.

Charlie pulled me to the edge of the bed as Owen and him both got on their knees in front of my already wet pussy. Charlie took his hand and moved it closer and closer to my throbbing vagina.

He took a finger, separating my folds causing me to cry out a moan. "Hey! Quiet, my neighbors are rude and hate me being loud," I scoffed at Owen, knowing I'll use that against him later.

"Shut it," I snapped, wanting more. "What did you just say?" Owen snapped his head up from looking at my folds. Charlie let out a small cry, just wanting to eat me out.

"Just do your work!" I called out, "you are so gonna pay for this later," Owen said, putting his head back down.

Charlie was the first to go in, sucking harshly, but amazingly on my clit. I threw my head back feeling dizzy already. My eyes fluttered shut as I felt another hand spread me out further. They both started sucking and teasing me. I pushed my hips up so their little stubbles on their faces would rub against me. Charlie laughed causing a vibration to run through me.

I put my hand on his head, just simply wanting more. I felt large fingers run from my asshole to my clit again. I felt Owen stick out his tongue into me as I arched my back and tilted my head back in so much pleasure.

Charlie lifted his head, trying to figure out my emotions. "You look so gorgeous," he ran his hand on my lower stomach, making me shake under the touch. I started shivering as I felt three fingers slide inside of me.

Little did they know I was a virgin. I mean.. the only thing I've done is blow guys off and finger myself. But I-I've never been eaten out or maybe even more. ;)

Owen moved his head so it was facing my thigh. He ran his teeth lightly across my thigh, winking up at me. His light cool breath on my thigh made me wanna die.

Owen and Charlie both went back to the main area. Charlie still was fingering me, hard and fast, leaving me speechless. They both started lapping my pussy with their tongues.

I felt weak. Like I was giving up. I was shaking. My hips wouldn't stop shivering into their faces. I threw my head back and rolled my eyes to the back of my head. I could see the love in their eyes when I looked back down at them.

"Guys I'm close," I yelped out, feeling my insides clench together. "Can we fuck after?" I could see Charlie's eyes open wide.

Before they could respond, Owen snuck two fingers in, I was covering them with wetness. My whole body shook quickly before I just let go. My orgasm left me shaking, they lapped their tongues every which way. Trying to get every last drop.

"Our beautiful girl, you were amazing," I smiled shyly, seeing Charlie crawl up my body. I could see a smirk fall across Owen's face, he quickly grabbed Charlie's dick that was spread out on my stomach and jerked it off quickly. He pulled away, climbing onto the bed like he didn't lay a single hand on Charlie.

Charlie grunted as he slipped his mouth onto mine. Whoa. His kiss was electric. It felt like fire rushed through me.

Owen pushed us apart, grabbing Charlie and pushing him over to the headboard. I automatically knew what Owen was thinking. "Maybe this is a good time to tell y'all." I stopped looking at them. "I- uh- I'm a virgin and that was my first time getting eaten out." Charlie's smile faded.

"Why are you lying?" I furrowed my eyebrows, "I'm not bubba," he had a pure look of shock on his face. "You sure you wanna ride me then?" I gulped thinking of getting stretched out, nodding slowly.

"Nope. That won't work. We need words." Owen says behind me. "M-maybe?" I said as a question. Charlie pushed himself up on his hands. "What do you mean maybe? It's a yes or no question."

I messed with my fingers, "I really wanna do this, yes." Owen smiled, kissing my temple lightly. "Do you know what a condom is?" I scoffed hitting Charlie's chest. "I'm not an idiot," I rolled my eyes playfully.

He opened up Owen's nightstand, purple and gold condoms all laid out inside. "How many of these do you have?" Owen scratched the back of his neck, "Whatever is in three big-box worth," I giggled at Owen, watching him rip open the condom and slide it on himself carefully.

I straddled Charlie's lap lightly, attaching our lips and pulling at his hair. I slightly moaned as a felt a hand grab my lower ass and spread me apart. I felt a tip of Charlie's dick on my sensitive area. I moaned into the kiss, giving him accesses to my mouth for his tongue.

I felt cold rings on my hips, Owen, duh, and push me down. I cried out a little Yelp as Owen and Charlie stopped everything, looking at me concerned. "Baby, you okay?" I nodded at Owen, smiling slightly. "I'll get used to it, just start," Owen started using his hands to push me up and down as Charlie and I moaned and whimpered into it all.

I started grinding up against Charlie and started moving faster. Owen soon let go and started jerking off. I leaned back, hands-on Charlie's calves. Right as I did that, his dick just kept hitting this angle.

I cried out in pleasure, tears forming in my sweaty eyes. "I'm gonna let go," Charlie nodded, clenching his teeth. I felt my insides clench together and before I knew it, I let go, again.

Charlie started to help me keep moving, for him. He was grunting and holding onto my tit tightly. "Oh fuck-" Owen yelled causing a smirk to grow on my face. "You're the one who said to be quiet and you're not being quiet," I said as I leaned back into Charlie's chest, feeling his breathing get heavier.

He let go, warm fluid spilling out into the condom. I shivered, wrapping my arms around his torso. And kissing him so light on the chest. We sat there for a minute, catching our breath.

I heard a grunt, looking behind me to a jealous-looking Owen. "Wait a minute... are you Jealous?" He shook his head with his arms crossed. "Wanna join in this round?" Owen lit up, nodding harshly.

"My ass?" I questioned him as charlie grabbed the lube. "You have this stuff laying anywhere?" Charlie and Owen just laughed, not answering my question.

Owen jumped over to me, we all knew at this point this round would be fast. We were all super sensitive at this point, it could happen in 2 minutes for all I know.

Charlie was still staying inside of me as Owen took a bit of lube putting it on himself and me. Charlie took his hands off my waist and spread my ass cheeks apart. "Ready babe?" I nodded, feeling a tip hit my hole, moaning as he pushed in quickly.

Charlie hit Owen on the arm. "Dude, her first time. That was harsh!" Owen shrugged and mumbled a sorry. Owen grabbed my hair and twirled it in his hands, ready to pull my head back. "Your hair is so soft." Owen randomly spat out, all of us chuckling after.

They made sure it was okay to move and that I was okay with this. Which, I was. I was bouncing up and down, side to side, honestly every which way. I was kissing Owen upside down, I mean everything was hectic.

Charlie had a hand on Owen's lower back and the other on my boob. The same thing with Owen but one hand was wrapped to the front of my waist. Charlie dropped his hand from my tit and started rubbing my clit.

I started moaning so loud the whole world could probably hear me. Owen stuck a finger in my mouth to suck on as I clenched around Charlie's dick. "Fuck- Charlie- Owen- we never replaced his condom- fuck oh yes-" they didn't respond they were probably seeing stars.

"Y/n I'm almost there- oh shit-" Owen moaned out, joining Charlie to rub my clit. I released before owen, purposely clenching my asshole and wrap tightly around Charlie's cock. They both moaned and grunted, rolling their eyes.

"Right there- oh oh- yes-" Charlie said feeling me clench around him. Owen let go this amazingly warm liquid, filling me amazingly. Owen pulled out, falling on the left side, Charlie let go, feeling it drop out the condom and onto his pub hairs.

I climbed off and laid between them. "I liked that," I said out of breath. I felt like I could hear them smirk. I wrapped my arms around them, pulling them close, so their faces hit my boobs.

Charlie laughed, mumbling, "you're so cute when you're tired," I kissed the top of his sweet sweaty head, smiling happily.

"We need to talk about what happened tonight, tomorrow morning," Owen called out from the side. I was about to answer, but my eyelids got too heavy, and I m passed out. With them in my arms.

The boys talked about how they loved me calling out their names. How they want to be more dominant next time. They wanna punish each other next time. And definitely not do five rounds again, maybe just three instead. They kept going on and on of how they loved y/n, until they fell asleep, Charlie drooling on her boob and Owen licking it.

———————————————

I woke up with the boys cleaning me up. "Oh look who's awake." Charlie said, smiling playfully. "We are so sorry for last night and never cleaning you," I gave Owen a smile smile. They crawled back into bed, cuddling into my side. Before I jumped up at a thought. "What time is it?" Owen turned behind him, trying to check.

"12:34pm, why?" He spoke softly. "Shit. I'm late for work!" I jumped up, hitting Owen on his dick. He grunted, curling his body into a ball. "You fucking hurt Owen," Charlie called out, rubbing Owen's back. "Come back to bed y/n," Charlie looked over at me as I slid on a random t-shirt.

"I cannot be late, they will fire me, again." Owen hissed still in pain. "We don't care, if something happens we will take you under our hands. Just come back," I quickly jumped over, back onto them. Smacking light kisses on Owen ticklish spot. I even went down to his stomach, knowing I was leaving him throbbing.

Charlie grabbed me by the waist, pulling me off of Owen. "You gotta show me lovin!" He called out playfully. He gave me a slow passionate kiss, it felt like I was in heaven. He pulled back, kissing my forehead softly. "Is that my shirt?" Owen said lightly from behind, leaving Charlie and I giggling.

"Last night was amazing," I said lightly. "You guys are the ones that took my virginity, and I'm happy about it." I smiled down at my fidgeting hands.

"You seem worried," Owen sat up, leaning on the headboard. "D-did you feel pressured to have sex with us? Oh my god. If you did we are so terribly sorry," Charlie said, letting out a soft scared voice.

Charlie also sat up, waiting for my response. "You guys are insane. I trust you two with all my heart. Of course I wanted too," I pushed myself up so I was right next to them, same angle and everything.

"Can I braid your hair?" I let out randomly to Owen as he nodded. "That's a relief," Charlie said to the side. I giggled, knowing I didn't purposely mean to scare them like that. I got behind Owen and took his long dirty blonde hair into my hands. I tugged a little, trying to get a perfect French braid. "Owen stop moving!" He yelped in pain. "Sorry, Jesus Christ," he kept complaining and arguing with me.

Charlie sat his head in between Owen's lap, still neither with pants on. Owen finally moved causing me to mess the whole thing up. "Stop moving and fussing. I'm just braiding your hair!" He put on a pouty face and stuck his tongue out at me. I giggled, smirking lightly and loving the way I could be myself with them, without them taking it toooooo seriously.

I finished up Owen's braids, kissing each of them on the lips, and organizing them to a cuddling position. They smiled at how focused I was. That whole evening was sloppy, we kissed, cuddled, watched movies, and baked little cookies.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Maybe might make a little series, obviously not all smut but yeah :)

Hope you enjoyed (:

#charlie gillespie oneshots #owen joyner imagine #owen patrick joyner imagine #smut #charlie gillespie smut #luke patterson smut #fanfic #owen joyner #owen joyner smut

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feliix · 4 years

Text

halloween hookup ↠ lee minho

↠ CEO!Minho x Reader

↠ Genre: Smut, fluff(ish), coworkers 2 lovers

↠ Rating: M (18+)

↠ Word Count: 4.9k

↠ Summary: The details of your company Halloween bash are all a blur once you wake the next morning, well, at least until you notice your boss Lee Minho lying beside you in an unfamiliar bed.

↠ Warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, fingering, nipple play, semi-public sex, nudes (but not the kind you think of lmao), dum/sub themes, mentions of alcohol and drinking. (though this fic does not include sexual intercourse following the consumption of alcohol, please remember to drink responsibly and that consent is not consent if you are under the influence!)

↠ A/N: here’s to spooky season and minho day (even though i’m a day late oopsie). and as always thank you to @jinterlude for beta reading ily ♡

The bright morning sun creeps through your curtains, scattering light through your bedroom and grazing your bare skin with its rays. A peaceful way to start your Saturday morning, you muse, snuggling deeper into your bed. As you come to your senses, you notice something is quite off. The room smells stale, your sheets feel slightly more scratchy than usual, and something is weighing down over your waist.

Your eyes snap open, realizing that the object weighing down your waist is in fact, someone's arm. The sheets you’re lying over are not yours, and the odd aroma that’s filling the room can not compare to the sweet scent of your own apartment. As if that isn’t bad enough, you’re not able to identify whose arm is slung over your body, pulling your waist backward against their warm bare chest.

Where am I?

Without waking up the unknown man, you carefully shift your weight to release yourself from his grasp. You take your head into your hands, gently massaging your temples trying to relieve the hangover paging through your brain.

The memories from the previous night are stale in your mind. You rack your brain, trying to come up with some reason as to why you’re here and exactly how you yourself got into this position. You sit up in bed, cautiously wrapping the sheets over your body. It seems like a dream or distant illusion, and you can’t quite piece together how it all went down.

You remember being at the company Halloween bash, you remember having useless small talk with a bunch of your coworkers, playing some stupid game that definitely would have been better if it involved some alcohol, and then it got even lamer, so you left with Minho.

Oh my gosh. You left with Minho. As in your boss, Lee Minho.

Your head whips around your body to look at the sleeping body lying next to you as if you’re expecting to see anyone else placed beside you. The memories of what happened last night come flooding back to you, and it went something like this.

The party was held in your office conference room, which was just big enough to squeeze all 20 people in your department into one space, but small enough where you would bump up against the person next to you if you moved too abruptly. Various types of appetizers and finger foods lined the long meeting table which stretched the entire length of the room. There was also a small end table in the corner topped with various types of soda, a bowl of punch, and some booze that George from IT brought. Not that you would ever drink at an office party, that was way too risky.

A few girls from HR had decided to decorate with some cut out pumpkins they printed off some computer paper and orange streamers that were probably leftover from your last boss's going away party.

After your last boss had left, your company hired Lee Minho, a young business professional from a different location that your company owned. Mr. Lee was a pretty laid back guy compared to your last boss. It was pretty weird having a boss as young as Mr. Lee, but he always made sure to bring some fun into the workplace whenever he could, like this Halloween bash for instance. Not to mention, he was the most attractive boss you'd ever had. All the other female employees seemed to agree, swooning over him with every opportunity that they were given.

Mr. Lee also really enjoyed flirting with his employees, male and female. It was hard to tell if he was being nice or just hitting on you the first time he complimented your outfit. The next time he complimented your blouse you noticed his eyes wandering down to your boobs, and you knew it was not just an innocent compliment, but hey, he was attractive so you were definitely not complaining about it.

The feeling of your phone vibrating in your back pocket of your denim skirt startled you, causing you to jump before fumbling your hands back to reach for the device.

Mr. Lee: I like your cat ears ;)

The sides of your lips lifted into a small smirk before picking your head up to look for Minho across the room. He gave you a small smile and finished his gesture off with a wink before you looked back down, sliding open your phone and responding.

Y/N: thanks! where's your costume? corporate won't let you join in on the fun for once :(

Mr. Lee was dressed in his usual attire, some black dress pants, and a black button-down, but accompanied by a very festive orange and black halloween tie. The slender fit of his shirt made his shoulders look especially broad in comparison to his narrow waist.

Before you could even look up from your phone Minho was standing by your side with a cup of punch in each hand, tilting his head towards one of the glasses to offer it up to you. Nodding your head, you smiled a thank you and took the red cup from his grasp.

You coolly leaned your back against the wall behind you, trying to stay out of the way of all the useless chatter going on between the coworkers surrounding you. Mr. Lee was quick to follow suit, sliding his legs down a little further away from the wall so he could match your height.

"This party is kind of lame," he whispered in your ear, earning him a small grin and soft chuckle from you. Most of the employees at your office were much older than you, so it was hard for you to connect with them. They all had their own families and children, where you had just become financially stable enough to move out of your parent’s house.

"You think anyone will notice if we leave?" You said sarcastically, playing along with his charade, just equally bored of the small talk your coworkers were making around you.

"Yeah, but I think I can get us out of it," he replied smoothly, pushing his back off of the wall and walked towards the conference room door, shooting you a quick wink before he made his exit. You had no idea what Minho had in store to get you out of this party but you sure hope it was good.

Not a minute later, the desk phone in the conference room began to ring. Everyone shot each other questioning glares, slightly confused as to who would be calling the office after hours on a Friday. Minho's secretary sauntered over to the phone before holding her index finger over her lips, signaling everyone around her to be quiet.

"Hello this is Amy," she said, cocking her head to the side and furrowing her brows, trying to understand what the caller was saying at the other end of the line. Her expression quickly changed to a small smile as she looked around the room, eyes landing on you before responding to the caller.

"I'll let her know. Thank you, Mr. Lee," Amy replied before hanging up the phone, "Y/N, Mr. Lee needs help with something and would like for you to meet him in his office as soon as possible."

Trying your hardest not to let a smirk creep onto your face, you nodded your head and placed your unfinished drink down on the table. Curious to see what Minho had in-store to get you out of the party, you made your way out of the conference room and to his office.

Peeking through the office window, you saw Minho seated at his desk on his phone. His legs were crossed with his feet placed upon the surface in front of him. The small lamp on his desk dimly illuminated the room, reflecting some light off of his shiny black shoes. He raised his head, eyes wandering away from his phone as you cracked open the door to his office.

"Mr. Lee, you needed help with something?" You inquired sweetly, giving him a grin while making your way into the room.

"Ah, I've been waiting for you." He joked smiling back at you, "Shut the door behind you." You obliged, carefully wrapping your fingers around the handle and closing the door lightly, sure to not make a sound.

"Is everything alright?" You asked, moving closer to Minho as he swung his legs off the desk and placed his feet on the ground.

"Well I figured we could have our own fun, that party was so lame," he said, holding his hand out for you to take. You hesitated, wondering where this was going but you took his hand in yours, curious to find out. He pulled you in closer so your frame stood between his legs, making your heart jump in your chest.

"What did you have in mind?" You smirked, feeling your body beginning to grow warm with anticipation.

"Hmm," he started, patting his thigh for you to take a seat on, "something not so spooky I suppose."

A knot began to form in your throat, causing you to swallow hard before stuttering out the word "Spooky?" and sitting down on his thigh.

Minho softly chuckled, "I've never seen anyone look so sexy in cat ears before, you were driving me insane in there."

Your breathing hitched as he placed a hand on your thigh, gently stroking your skin up to the hem of your skirt. "Is this okay, baby girl?" His eyebrow raised in question, watching your expression shift into a flustered one. You keened at the pet name, feeling heat rush right to your cheeks. Slowly, you nodded your head in response, unable to trust your voice in a time like this.

"Um, I didn't know you thought about me this way Mr. Lee," you stifled out while uncomfortably shifting around on his lap. Minho caught his bottom lip between his teeth, suppressing a low groan before shifting his body as well, feeling his member harden as he leaned further back into his chair.

"Call me Minho," he smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek and to your hair, sweeping it over your shoulder.

"O-Okay," you stammered, growing flustered from his sweet yet sensual actions.

"Do you think about me this way, baby girl?" He said smugly, almost as if he knew the response you would be giving him in return.

"Yes, Minho," you unknowingly admitted. The words felt foreign coming out of your mouth, it felt odd calling your boss by his first name. But in some weird way, you liked knowing that he felt more turned on by you compared to the other female coworkers that were desperate for his attention.

"What do you think about, hmm?" Minho hummed, a short smirk fixed on his face. Your eyes widened in embarrassment, choking back a whimper as his hand brushed up past the hem of your skirt. Biting your lip in an attempt to control your breath, his hand wandered higher, pushing your skirt further up to expose your panties.

His long fingers grazed the fabric of the underwear over your core. Letting out a short gasp, you quickly brought your hand up to cover your mouth to muffle the sound. Dragging his fingers along the growing wetness on your panties, Minho kept his eyes locked on your expression.

"I, I think about how nice you always look in your dress clothes," you stuttered, "but I really wonder what you look like under them."

Ending the statement confidently, it seemed as if someone else had taken control of your tongue. Minho raised his eyebrows, smirk still plastered on his face from his prior question. As you felt the bulge in his pants begin to protrude under you, he shifted in his chair once again. He cleared his throat, loosening his tie in the process before speaking up.

"We should go somewhere more private." Minho suggested as he moved you off of his lap. "I don't want to be somewhere that anyone could find us," He finished before pacing towards the hall outside of his office. Following behind him you obliged, walking towards the door and into the corridor. Before you could get very far a faint voice sounded off down the hallway.

"Mr. Lee?" Minho's secretary called out from down the hall.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath, grabbing your hand and swiftly pulling you into the nearest room to avoid Amy.

The copy room was dark. The small touchscreen on the copy machine and the light that peeked in through the small, rectangular window on the door barely lit the room enough for you to see what was right in front of you.

Breathing heavily, Minho pushed your back up against the door trying to remain out of sight as he followed suit beside you. The feeling of hiding from your coworker with your boss was thrilling, something that was easily so wrong, and definitely against HR policy, excited you.

"Mr. Lee? Are you still here?" Amy called from the hallway outside the copy room door. Minho's startled eyes wandered out the small window on the top of the door to see where his secretary could be.

"Fuck," he let out a deep breath before ducking away from the window.

Minho flipped his body so that he was facing you, placing his arms on either side of your head and his forehead resting on yours. He slowly brought his index finger to your lips, motioning you to stay quiet so you wouldn't be found.

Minho's warm, deep breaths met the skin of your cheeks, his long arm hovered over you, restricting you between his body and the wooden door behind you. The mere inches between your bodies left you craving for his touch yet again. You bit your lip to try and ease your breathing, looking up at Minho through your long eyelashes.

He placed his palm over your lips, trying to silence your deep breaths from the woman pacing around the corridor only a few feet away. His gaze was deep and sultry, it felt as though he was looking straight through you and directly to your thoughts. If only he knew the types of things going through your mind right now – such inappropriate things for an employee to think about their boss.

Tension grew as you stood there, body pressed against Minho’s as you waited for Amy to pass. Being in such close proximity to him was affecting you in ways you would've never imagined. Heat flooded to your core with each deep breath you took; Minho’s seductive stare only furthered your desire.

Without saying a word, Minho removed his hand from your mouth and replaced it with his own. The kiss caught you off guard, causing you to let out a small gasp in return. Minho smiled at your reaction, clearly satisfied with how he was taking you by surprise. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip asking for entrance, in which you easily obliged, slowly parting your lips and allowing him to kiss you even more passionately.

Minho’s knee found its place spreading your thighs apart slowly, teasing you as he rubbed it against your throbbing clit in the process. With slight hesitation, he quickly peeked his head up to the window one more time, making sure that the coast was clear before leaning back down to attach his lips to yours. His hands roamed your body down to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer to him.

Pressing your breasts to his chest, you slid your hand between your two bodies. Your hand found its way down to the bulge in his pants, lightly groping it before earning a moan of approval from him. Instinctively he began to grind into your hand, becoming even needier for your touch.

Minho’s breathing became instantly jagged from the moment you first touched his growing member. Perspiration began to gather at the top of Minho's exposed forehead, the small strands of dark hair framing his face hastily became damp. Your callous touch accompanied with sweet kisses to his lips sent Minho into a state of hunger; his demeanor instantly changed, electrifying the mood of the room.

Minho’s fingertips dragged down your body and to the hem of your blouse, tugging on it slightly before seeking approval to remove it from your body. There’s not enough time to respond before you were fiddling with the tie around his neck, loosening it and slipping it over his head to have better access to the buttons that lined his shirt. Your hands moved swiftly trying to undo each one before Minho's hands reached for his belt, causing you to bring your hands back to your own body.

In an unspoken rhythm, you both discarded your bottoms, leaving Minho standing naked as you wore just your silky black bra. A low moan left his lips as his hand cupped your breast, massaging gently before slipping his thumb underneath the thin fabric to play with your nipple. His touch left goosebumps all over your body, taking the sensation of his calloused fingertips against such a sensitive area.

You threw your head back in pleasure giving Minho access to your neck. Hungrily, he attached his lips just above your collarbone, sucking light marks into your skin. His hands moved to your back, unlatching the clasp of your bra and removing it from your body. The stimulation from both his lips and his fingers left your core aching for more, leaving moisture to accumulate between your thighs.

Without a second to spare, Minho’s hand’s were roaming down your body, parting your legs and dragging his finger down your wet slit. You moaned in response, keening into his touch as sweat began to gather on your brow.

With one quick swipe against your clit you were jumping at the contact. “Minho,” you moaned, “need your fingers inside me.”

A stern look crossed his face, making his seductive expression even more dark and lustful than before. “You have to be quiet,” his voice carried a serious tone as he placed a finger to your lips, “we don’t want Amy coming to look for us again, do we?” His question lingered as he leaned in closer to you, whispering the words softly, before leaving with a small nip to your earlobe causing you to shudder.

“Jump,” Minho ordered, grabbing your ass with each hand as you followed his request, jumping as his strong arms secured themselves around you. Each of your legs rested on each side of his body, gripping him tightly so you wouldn't fall. Minho held his body tightly up against you, taking his time by teasing you and dragging his member along your wet slit ever so slowly.

His hard member slid into you carefully, allowing you time to adjust to his size before pushing himself all the way in. You threw your head back against the wall in pleasure, becoming accustomed to the feeling of his hard shaft stretching out your walls. Slowly, Minho began pumping in and out of you at a slow pace. He was careful not to make too much noise, giving you slow and shallow thrusts before working his way to a faster pace.

He soon attached his lips to yours, moaning into the kiss as you basked in the taste of fruity residue left from the punch he was sipping on earlier. The room was becoming hot and stuffy, the window above you becoming cloudy as your bodies perspired. His movements were fluid and intentional, rocking you against the door as he held you tightly in his grip.

"Hold on," Minho whispered, pulling you off of the wall and walking towards the back of the room. His muscular arms held your body tightly against his, making sure no space was left between you.

Minho pulled out slowly, the sensation of your aching pussy berating your thoughts as he and let go of your legs. Your shaky legs were left to steady themselves on the ground, stumbling to hold onto Minho’s firm chest for support.. Grabbing you by your waist, he quickly turned your body to face the copy machine. In one swift motion you watched him lift open up the top of the machine, letting the beam of light underneath the glass panel illuminate your naked figure. His bare chest was placed flush against your back, standing so close that you could feel his racing heartbeat.

"Bend over," Minho ordered as his hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you to push your chest closer to the copy machine. Following his orders, you pressed your body against the machine, shivering from the cold sensation of the glass panel brushing against your sensitive nipples.

Minho grabbed onto your ass, squeezing it gently as he guided himself back into you. You let out a quiet whine, wrapping your fingers onto the sides of the copy machine to try and stabilize yourself. He returned back to a steady pace, rocking into you with ease while his firm hands caressed your back.

"Fuck Y/N," Minho moaned, "you're taking me so well."

His hand grabbed at your hair harshly, making a makeshift ponytail with his fist, as he pulled your head up. Arching your back, you couldn't help but let out a loud moan in reaction to the new depths Minho was reaching in your dripping core.

"I wanna hear you," Minho grunted between thrusts, his strokes becoming faster and harder. Incapable of using your words, you let out another whine squeezing your eyes shut completely, focused on the sensation of his thick member filling you up and the feeling of his hips hitting your ass with each plunge.

"I'm close," your voice was whiny and weak. Minho picked up his pace, snapping his hips harder into you as one hand left its position on your hip. The loss of contact made you whine, but his hand soon found its place between your legs. His fingers lightly brushed against your swollen clit, the sensation making you see stars. Legs beginning to shake, your grip on the copy machine became firmer, needing to hold onto something in order to steady yourself. The added pleasure from his fingers sent you spiraling, choking you up and causing your eyes to water in bliss.

"Come for me Y/N, I wanna feel you cum all over my cock," he grunted, his voice low and sensual. Moving his hand faster, your clit was rolled between his fingertips. Your orgasm was just out of reach. The satisfaction was just out of reach. But Minho’s tender touch sent you over the edge, relying on the copy machine to hold his unstable body up.

"Minho," you mustered out, riding out your high, pussy throbbing around his dick. He hummed in response, too focused on chasing his own high to form any audible words. The low grunts leaving Minho’s lips became more and more frequent as his thrusts slowed, growing sloppier and careless. But his hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you still as he let out a string of profanities before collapsing onto your back.

Minho rested his head between your shoulder blades, chest heaving as he regained his composure before pulling out of you. Slowly, he stood up, taking a deep breath and admiring your exhausted figure before you followed behind him.

"Wow," was the only word that you could manage, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand as you turned to face him. Minho chuckled in response, smiling gingerly as he picked up your clothes, handing them back to you so that you could get dressed.

After pulling your top over your head your eyes did a quick scan around the room, confirming that you weren't leaving anything behind. If someone were to find an undergarment in here, it would be the talk of the office for at least a week. In the corner of your eye, you spotted a sheet of paper resting on the tray of the copy machine. Raising an eyebrow, you paced back over to the machine and lifted up the sheet.

"Oh. My. God."

You were frozen in place, eyes wide with shock as you look at the image before you. Minho soon whipped his body around, finishing off the buckle of his belt before wandering over to the copy machine.

"I'm so keeping that," Minho said, looking over your shoulder at the picture of your bare breasts printed on the paper gripped harshly in your hands. A smug smirk was plastered on his face as he continued to admire the crude photograph.

"Minho, do you know how this happened?" Your voice was filled with concern, turning your head to face him, sure he was up to something. His eyes were glued on the graphic photo you held in your hands, too zoned out to hear you speak.

"Minho," you repeated more firmly this time, finally gaining his attention back to you from the image, "did you do this?"

A small grin formed on his face, one side of his mouth lifted while he raised his eyebrows. He looked smug...too smug.

"Can't have anyone finding this, now can we?" He chuckled, taking this paper in his own hands and taking one last glance before ripping it into small pieces before tossing the pieces into the recycling bin and extending a hand to you. "I say we go celebrate the occasion with a drink, you in?" Taking his hand in yours, you nodded your head in agreement, following Minho out of the copy room.

"How does a some more punch sound? George brought an extra bottle of juice that I can snag and I’ve got a bottle of vodka at my place with our names on it." Minho spoke, earning a smile from you before walking out the office doors.

Suddenly you feel the mattress shift beside you, pulling you out of your daydream. Minho rolls over to face your direction with his eyes still closed, his mouth slowly opening before taking a deep breath.

"Good morning," he speaks, eyes fluttering open and taking in your disheveled appearance.

"Morning," you manage to mutter out, quickly breaking eye contact, unable to face him from the pure embarrassment filling your system.

"Last night was fun, huh?" He asks, the cheerfulness barely peeking through the groggy tone of his voice. "Last night?" You know exactly what he was talking about, but hope he’s referring to anything except what happened in the copy room.

"Yeah, we came back here to have a drink after we–"

"Oh okay yep! I remember. No need to go into any more details!" You cut him off before he can continue any further, covering your eyes to shield you from his gaze. The flesh on your cheeks are scorching hot with embarrassment.

As you go to stand up from the bed, hoping to quickly gather your things and rush out the door before Minho could mention anything else, his hand reaches for yours. He pulls you in closer to him until your face is near enough to touch; grazing the side of your warm cheeks before speaking again. You lower your head in embarrassment, unsure of what Minho is about to say.

"I really enjoyed our time together last night, I wouldn’t mind having you over again." He brushes the stray hairs away from falling into your eyes, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze afterward. Heart fluttering in response, you catch your lip between your teeth in an attempt to hide the large smile that’s threatening to peek through.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Minho stands up, reaching into the pocket of the pants he wore last night and pulling out a small folded up piece of paper.

"I believe this belongs to you," he curls up the ends of his mouth, biting back a smile while handing it to you. Confused, you unfold the paper revealing a picture of your very own breasts. As if the situation could not get any more embarrassing, Minho stares down at the paper in your hands, admiring your bare chest plastered in black and white, letting out a small chuckle.

As mortified as you are, you figure that the natural instinct to never talk to this man again would not work, seeing that Minho is your boss. Taking a deep breath, you try to find any sort of confidence that could still be left inside you. You look back up at him, cocking your head slightly to the side before reaching your arm out and handing him back the photo.

"Keep it, think of it as a Halloween gift." You say shooting him a smirk, internally crossing your fingers hoping for a good reaction. Minho snickers, taking the paper from your hand and looking at it one last time before folding it back up and holding it tightly in his palm.

"I'll keep it somewhere safe," He gives you a wink and shoves the paper deep into the pocket of his pajama pants.

"Happy Halloween, Minho."

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honeysofte-archieve · 3 years

Text

birdsong.

rating: teens and up. suggestive themes.

pairing: cremisius aclassi/female lavellan.

word count: 2,559

summary: Lavellan stays the night. Or rather: a morning.

haven’t written anything in a long while so this might come off as really clumsy & cringy, but here it is, anyway! <3

* * *

She is wearing his shirt.

She is sitting by the wide window sill, leaning against the wall and reading a leather-bound book while balancing a cup of herbal tea on one of her folded knees, and she is wearing his shirt and--

not much else, to be honest.

This is naturally the first thing Krem notices once he opens his eyes because he’s surprisingly one-track minded when it comes to Lavellan to his greatest embarrassment. Not that her appearance is the only thing that he cares about, far from it for he would adore her no matter what, but it certainly makes her all the more distracting to him.

The boys like to give him shit about it, too -- how utterly obvious and showy his affection and desire for her is. Krem would shut their faces permanently with his fist if Lavellan didn’t find it so endearing and smile at him sweetly whenever the topic comes up. Sometimes she even gets on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in front of all of them like she’s not ashamed at all of his affection for her and isn't afraid to show she returns the sentiment just as wholly.

And isn’t that the most amazing thing in the world for someone to have? To love and be loved so genuinely and kindly that one can feel it all the way inside their spine and lungs, a comforting presence no one wants to lose, ever.

in ao3. ♥

But of course, the topic of love has never come up, at least in spoken words. Everything is still quite new and wonderful, but Krem knows it's true. He loves her. And he's pretty positive she loves him too. Or he hopes she does, the other option gives him way too much anxiety so he's trying not to think about it. Like, ever.

But anyway, Krem can’t help but stare with no words to describe what he is feeling. He can feel the faint flicker of red on his cheeks. He can feel how his heartbeat quickens two-fold. He can feel a weight loosening free inside his chest as he watches this beautiful creature that is somehow his.

Inquisitor Lavellan looks open and vulnerable and beautiful in the morning sun, the light dancing on her neck and chest-- the old scars on her face, the faint stretch marks and moles littering her thighs and arms more prominent this way. She is frowning slightly as she reads, her teeth tugging her lower lip in concentration at whatever is happening in the book, before she licks her thumb and turns another page, oblivious to Krem’s gawking.

The shirt, of course, is not the main reason he can't keep his eyes away from her, though, even if she looks very attractive in it.

No, the very thing that has Krem astonished is that she's still here. In his room. In the morning. For the first time since they've started doing this, kissing and laughing and having sex, and Krem… isn't entirely sure what to make of it.

Lavellan is a very busy woman after all.

A few moments pass before Lavellan glances in his direction and takes a double-look when she notices him awake. Krem kind of does this awkward finger-wiggle sort of thing at her because it's quite impossible for her not to figure out he's been staring at her quite intently for a while now.

"Good morning, Cremisius,” Lavellan murmurs with a small smile on her heart-shaped face and does a finger-wiggle right back at him, making it look somehow elegant and not idiotic as hell.

No one, not one person, calls him Cremisius. No one except for her. And he likes how the name forms in her mouth, likes the look on her face as she says it aloud. His heart always skips a beat when she does it and he doesn’t think he will ever get used to it. He is so easy for her.

Lavellan looks unusually relaxed this morning, Krem has not often seen her like this-- probably no one does. She works and works and works and rarely takes time for herself and it’s always rubbed Krem off the wrong way how much people demand of her, never giving her a break, never letting her just be. Sometimes he feels like fighting every fucker who makes her feel like she doesn't deserve time for herself, but he desists. Mostly.

But here she is. Here she is this morning; still with him despite her duties and demands of others. For the first time during their relationship. It's almost astonishing.

“Morning.” Krem’s throat is slightly dry and his voice catches just a little when he meets her bronze coloured eyes. Maker, he hopes it’s not too obvious.

“Did you sleep well?” Lavellan asks gently, closes her book and takes a sip of her still steaming tea. She mustn't have been awake for long though the morning seems already later than normal. Krem is usually already long awake at this hour, doing drills with the boys or eating an early lunch.

Krem blinks and blinks again before finally realises she’s expecting an answer and he ends up nodding. And for a while, they just keep staring at each other in silence before Krem can’t help but beam at her in something like happiness.

“I like your shirt,” he blurts out, feeling absolutely moronic today for some reason. It makes Lavellan lift her eyebrow and for a while, Krem is sure she’s going to ignore the comment as she often does, but this time she only shrugs and says:

“I was feeling a little cold.”

It’s summer and it’s not true, both of them know that, so Krem grins, his lips wide, and Lavellan rolls her eyes in something like fondness. She scratches her leg, the shirt collar dropping downwards as her body moves and Krem has to swallow hard.

The moment isn’t awkward, per se, it’s just new and it seems like neither of them really knows how to fill it. It doesn't feel like the place for empty chatter.

“You look good in it. Comfortable. Very.... stimulating,” he dares to comment and suppresses a lewd grin that threatens to slip out.

“Hmm,” Lavellan answers. She seems amused, however faintly, which Krem takes as a victory. He feels an urge to do something with his hands-- pull her closer across the distance and touch the soft skin of her thigh. Or something.

“So,” Krem says slowly. The scratchy sheets are bundled around his waist and he scratches his abdomen. His chest is bound, but he doesn’t feel self-conscious around her, not anymore. For she knows him; she knows most things about him. He knows a little less about her, but he’s determined to learn every piece of her in time.

Lavellan opens her book again.

“So,” Lavellan answers and even though she’s not looking at him, the corners of her mouth are twitching. It makes Krem braver than he is.

“I kind of didn’t expect you to still be here.”

His words are casual and not accusing, not in the slightest, and he’s glad that Lavellan notices it as well because her expression doesn’t change.

“I’m taking the day off,” Lavellan replies and flips a page forward in her book, though she’s not reading it as far as Krem can tell, just staring at the words since her eyes don’t move on the paper.

“Can an inquisitor take a day off?”

“Who could stop me? I am the Inquisitor,” Lavellan kind of scoffs, kind of laughs. Krem’s gaze is focused on her pink mouth because, Maker, he is apparently just as bad as most other men are when it comes to a pretty face. He really hopes Lavellan doesn’t notice, that’d be quite embarrassing. Not that he has ever pretended to know something about words like honour or chastity.

“... Fair point.”

Lavellan hums underneath her breath, a breathy sound that is filled with something untraceable to him. He wonders what she’s thinking about.

“What are you reading?” Krem asks casually as he can, feeling slightly idiotic because he doesn’t know what to do at this moment. He wants to stand up and go to her, he wants to kiss her and pull her back to bed and do things to her that makes her body wet with sweat and pleasure.

Still, he does nothing except grip the bedsheets into this fist and takes a deep breath. He can be patient when he wills so-- he can be patient for her.

“A romance novel. Or rather a bodice ripper, I would say.”

“Shit,” Krem replies. Or more like mumbles as he still feels a little tired after the night despite having slept so long this morning. He's sort of surprised the chief hasn't come barreling through his door yet, the big damn oaf.

“Josephine gave it to me,” Lavellan continues casually. She is combing her long blonde hair with her fingers as she speaks and Krem wants nothing more than to touch her right at this moment. He aches with it, his fingers cramping at how hard he is gripping the bedsheets.

“She apparently got it from Vivienne who got it from Cassandra who got it from Sera who got it from... somewhere." Lavellan pauses. "Josephine called it the ‘the most beautifully written love story of this age’ so naturally, I needed to read it.”

“So, how is it?”

Krem doesn't want to talk about books.

He wants to pull her back into his bed and do things to her with his mouth and sleep some more afterwards.

“Mildly entertaining and educational. Considerably smuttier than I expected truth to be told, but I don’t mind. See, I had no idea qunari could be so incredibly... bendy.”

Lavellan grins at him, her mouth in a wicked bow, and Krem is not blushing. He is not. He is a grown man and doesn't flush at the mere mention of sex, that would be ridiculous considering he spends most of his time around Iron Bull and the other boys who hold nothing back.

"I'm certain you could ask the chief about it if you're really curious."

Lavellan huffs. "No thank you, that is definitely not the kind of conversation I want to have with my lover's superior."

Krem's heart jumps into his throat. Lover, he thinks. He likes the sound of the word. It feels fitting for them.

“Come here,” he requests throatily, changing the subject to something he is more desperate for. “Please.”

Lavellan spends a moment only looking, or perhaps studying, him with her piercing eyes before she sets down the book and her now empty teacup on the window sill and comes to him, all gentle smiles and cold fingertips. Just before he lays down, she takes off his shirt and Krem feels a tiny bang of disappointment before he realises that the sight of her bare frame, her charming curves and soft belly and generous chest, the constellations of freckles, moles and scars on her skin, are a marginally better sight.

Lavellan lets him look at her a moment that doesn't feel like enough time to drink in the picture she makes before she settles beside him on her stomach and Krem closes her delicate hand inside his own sword-callused one.

“You look so beautiful,” he confesses, perhaps too honestly, the words escaping his mouth like a bird out of its cage For a short moment Lavellan looks almost impossibly surprised like this is something she didn’t expect him to say at all. Her eyes are wide and sweet with something like utter fondness for him.

“And you are looking very handsome,” she counters, never quite knowing what to do with a direct compliment and this time he definitely blushes quite visibly but finds himself not minding it that much at all anymore. She could see all of him, naked and laid bare, and he would let her, always. No secrets, no fears.

Lavellan cups Krem's cheek and peers at him with an unflinching look, her thumb stroking the curve of his moist mouth. His tongue peeks out of his mouth and he swallows hard.

“Your freckles have grown bolder under the summer sun,” she comments aloud as her fingers explore every nook of his face, tracing the bridge of his nose with her long nail and thumbing the fragile, blue skin underneath his eyes that are still puffy from sleep. He feels invincible, confident beyond explanation. That's what Lavellan does to Krem.

Krem licks his lips. He licks his lips and the tip of it catches on Lavellan's fingertip, just before she presses her tender mouth to his own and kisses him for the first time for what feels like forever.

And it's a very good kiss. One of the best he's ever had.

Not overly gentle, but intense and sweet, and it consumes him entirely with its depth, making him feel thoroughly light-headed and happy.

So happy. Being with Lavellan makes him the happiest he's ever been. He's a lucky son of a bitch and he’s the first one to admit that.

"I'm glad you stayed tonight," Krem whispers, his voice husky with need and she looks straight into his eyes before murmuring: "Me too."

Afterwards, a comfortable silence surrounds them for a long while. They fill it with kisses and hungry caresses, but they're not in a rush to start anything more. They continue until Lavellan breaks apart and searches his eyes with her own brown ones. For some reason, there's a touch of sadness in them.

"You know it's nothing personal, don't you?" she asks hesitantly, her fingers drumming against his chest as she talks-- a habit that tells him that she’s genuinely nervous about his answer. She swallows before continuing: "If I could, I would wake up in your arms every morning, it’s just-- "

"I know," Krem murmurs, shushing her words with a small peck. And he does, but fuck how he hates it. Sometimes he would just want to bury her in his arms and hide her from the rest of the world. Not that Lavellan would ever let him, but a man can dream.

"Good." Lavellan nods, satisfied. She brushes his forehead with the back of her hand, sweeping off a drooping hair strand that's been tickling his brow for a while now. Krem isn't sure if he deserves such tenderness from her. Or anyone.

"Good," Krem repeats with the biggest grin that flashes his teeth and Lavellan rolls her beautiful eyes before kissing him again with a fierce sort of enthusiasm that takes Krem off guard.

But neither of them are leading it to anything more. They're perfectly content just like this, with rush or impatience for nothing.

It's a new feeling and it's lovely.

"This is nice," Krem says after they pull apart again with their mouths wet and red, her doe-eyes almost swallowed up by her black pupils.

Lavellan looks entirely fond. She presses her lips to his forehead, the gesture not overly sweet but close enough. "It is."

"Maybe you could… take a day off again some time," Krem suggests making Lavellan sort of snort in surprise. Though before Krem can feel too bad about asking, she murmurs acceptance in his ear.

"Mm. I'll see what I can do."

It's as good as a promise.

#dragon age #da:i #lavellan #cremisius aclassi #krem x inquisitor #female lavellan #cremisius aclassi x inquisitor #fanfic #*my writing #character: sage

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

We meet Lucy, we meet Samantha and her twins & Mother Nature gets a little bit mad. But on the upside - she loves Tony :)

Kind reminder that this story will have horror/thriller elements & graphic descriptions of blood, gore and all the nasty stuff associated with superhero battles described in some detail. This chapter contains some of that.

Honestly, this story is getting- uhh- 8-12 notes on Tumblr. It's got a decent following on AO3 which brings me joy because I truly do enjoy the worldbuilding to a, perhaps, guilty amount. So if you like it too - please reblog :)

The fabric of my skirt was suddenly yanked and I jumped, dropping my phone and startling out of my daze. Two big, blue eyes stared up at me, curiousity mixed with impatience in them. I crouched down to pick up my device, coming face to face with a tiny blonde girl about nine or ten years of age.

"Lucy, hi!" I squeezed out a smile at the child. She looked pale, as if she'd never seen the slightest bit of sunlight, chubby cheeks contrasted by an overall spindliness of her body. Her dress was a puffy, long-sleeved, red and white polka dotted monstrosity with at least two petticoats that made her seem bigger than she actually was. "Sorry, didn't see you there. Long day at work," despite there being a worm of anxiety crawling deeply in my chest, I heeded the warnings on the list of rules and swallowed any unease I had.

Which was a hard feat. The stairs had gotten confused and I lost ten minutes of time going back, over and over, after encountering floors "5", "8" and "19" instead of my third floor, in a five story building. The building providing extra floors shouldn't have surprised me that much but the worst was fighting with the desire to explore them, my rational brain unhelpfully supplying that if this building was truly dangerous, nobody would be living in it.

The pull was almost unnatural in its strength yet my protection charms remained unaffected. Too tired from returning to work, I decided to distract myself with my phone - and nearly ran poor little Lucy off her feet.

"You are new," she signed to me slowly, carefully observing my reaction to her using ASL.

I had been truly unsettled by the rule list, perhaps more than I wanted to admit to myself, so I spent a night wide awake brushing up my meager sign language skills. "Yes, my name is Star," I replied, not quite sure if I wanted to shake her hand or simply make myself scarce as soon as possible.

Lucy gave me a closed-lipped grin, swooshing her puffy skirts in what I perceived to be a calculated amount of shyness. "Can I play with you, please?" Her hands moved a little more rapidly as she side-eyed my apartment door.

I briefly ran a mental checklist of the contents of my fridge. "Sure," I figured that two leftover steaks in it would be more than enough for the little girl. I'd splurged and gotten four prime pieces of meat to treat myself after a hectic moving process, cooking only half of them on the first day. "Come on it. You hungry?"

The door swung open as I led Lucy in, her bright dress and pale skin standing out in the twilight of my apartment. She nodded her head seriously, looking at me from head to toe as shivers ran up and down my spine. My bag was unceremoniously dumped on the couch, my socked feet shuffling into the kitchen and beelining for the fridge.

Lucy followed me quietly, taking a seat at the dinner table and folding her thin arms atop it, expectant blue eyes following my every move. As I plated the meat and reached for the roll of paper towels, I felt like I was being examined under a microscope. Somewhere in the distance, a quiet hissing noise was beginning to rise.

Lucy politely declined the fork and knife I attempted to give her so I just set down the plate in front of her, leaving the kitchen to change out of my dusty, sweaty clothes, too tired to really worry about the loud, sloppy and wet chewing noises and low growling coming from the dining area. I decided as long as she wasn't attempting to have me for dinner, I was going to be just fine.

I found Lucy on the carpet of my living room, flipping through a fashion magazine she'd found somewhere after I was done with scavenging some sweatpants from my mostly-unpacked closet. Her blonde curls bounced as she looked up at me with another tight smile, this time looking calmer, friendlier somehow. "I like those dresses," she signed, pointing at a few pictures with models wearing ballroom gowns in all kinds of colours. "And these..." She pointed out a tiara, probably not knowing how to sign the words.

"This is a tiara," I spoke slowly, signing the last word with my hands carefully as she observed. And then a few more times, until she repeated her last sentence perfectly. "Good job, Lucy," I praised her as she beamed at me. The river of quiet, scratchy giggles never stopped as she pointed out various things and I tried to sign them to the best of my ability, Lucy not showing any signs of upset whatsoever if I couldn't get the name for something right.

After some time, it was beginning to get very dark outside and a couple of pointed glances at the clock was all it took for her to stand up and carefully dust off her skirts. "Thank you for playing with me, Star," Lucy signed excitedly. "I like you. Do you want to know a secret?" She leaned in conspirationally, bursting into my space bubble with a lack of care only a child could posess.

I nodded, not trusting my mouth whatsoever. The closer she leaned in, the more overwhelming her smell became. Her pretty dress reeked of mildew and stale water, her breath - of dried blood and something earthen, like moist soil and cold cobblestone.

Lucy's eyes widened dramatically. "If you need answers, go on to the seventh floor. Bring some warm milk and cookies, they won't bother you too much, but be careful and don't stay for too long. You look tasty," I struggled to keep up with her rapid signing, my eyes firmly trained on her. Lucy's hand carefully patted my cheek and in my frozen state, I could only wave back as she skipped to the door and unlocked it, giving me one of her closed-lipped smiles before disappearing behind it without a noise.

The lock slid shut on it's own after the girl's departure. My heart briefly jumped up into my throat, trapping my jerky inhale in-between my throat and my esophagus. Coughing, I went on to double check the door lock before scrambling for the TV remote to add some background noise to the suddenly eerily quiet apartment.

The sit-com that popped up wasn't any of the ones I knew so I sat helplessly watching unfamiliar people get themselves into more and more absurd situations as the grating noise of pre-recorded audience laughter mocked the characters actions. A sudden shriek pierced the late night stillness, followed by a sound of breaking dishes and a woman's voice tiredly chastising the miscreants.

Samantha.

I'd seen her a few times as she smoked her strong cigarettes in front of the entrance, her twins running in circles around the large pothole in the middle of the driveway. She'd been friendly enough, the dark circles under her eyes and the unkempt state of her clothes telling me more than her words, "I love them, I really do. But I just want some sleep," she rasped as she sighed and attempted to gather her two kids.

I didn't examine them too closely but on first moment's notice their eyes and teeth appeared... Wrong. Samantha had taken them inside after that, clutching a coffee thermos of a size truly impressive, and I went on my merry way, trying not to think too much of the poor, single mother and her two mutant kids. I felt a little proud, even, as she didn't just abandon them like many other people did after discovering their children had an active X-gene.

It didn't take me long to cave in and offer my help with watching the twins, Anya and Arman; one noisy weekend bled into the next and I began to genuinely feel bad for the overtired woman. Inviting the two terrors into my apartment was a choice I had made mindfully: having asked Odette about advice on hyperactive children, she had proposed a puzzle or two.

The thrifted, wooden items weren't able to hold the twins' attention for long, and Anya was the first one to begin gnawing at the hard blocks, covering the area around her in splinters. Arman was a quiet boy compared to his sister: he'd stare at the TV or at the walls, avoiding eye contact and conversation at great lengths.

My couch was jumped on, my dishes were taken out and my houseplants rearranged chaotically; it was almost as if they purposefully tried to get a rise out of me without doing any actual damage. I spent the remaining few hours of my Sunday putting things back in their places - all that pent up frustration had done wonders for the state of my apartment; it sparkled, looking cleaner than the day I moved in.

The babysitting became a somewhat regular occurrence, more often than not with me popping in for a couple of hours so Samantha could run some errands and the odd weekend when the twins came over to me so Sam could get some much-needed sleep.

She was a kind, gentle if chronically overworked woman. We clicked pretty quickly over our shared desire for comfortable stability and some fucking peace; neither I nor she had it in sights for the foreseeable future. Sam's reaction to me being a witch was a shrug and a top up to her wine glass as she pointedly looked at her daughter who was busy chewing on a door handle, leaving small, jagged marks all over the dull metal.

I just had gotten sorted with a bunch of complicated orders when the radio interrupted Eric Clapton with an emergency message and instructions to steer clear of the next few blocks over. Something had hit NYC again and Avengers had been called but nobody knew exactly what it was or when it was going to be dealt with.

As soon as I shot a text to Sam, explaining the situation, I immediately retreated to the back rooms, setting up my healing station over the noise of Odette preparing her office for visitors. For some time, I waited with baited breath, jumping at every little noise coming from the outside. The people tickled in slowly, mostly one by one and all were covered in foul-smelling sludge that evaporated with a loud hiss when the concentrated light of the UV lamp in my office touched it.

"Some kind of aliens, I think," a man with a face somewhere between a human and a hedgehog told me, wincing as he retracted his spikes back into his skin. "There's a hole- a portal, right on a crossroads and there's these things coming out. They kinda look like dragons, or flying snakes maybe," the more light breached the surface of his skin, the more relaxed he became. "The Sorcerer and the Witch are trying to close the portal, unsuccessfully might I add, and the muscle is just," he paused, scratching his chin. "Just killin' 'em, I guess."

I nodded enthusiastically, prompting him to continue to rely the state of the affairs as I applied the thick, viscous ointment on a gash on his leg. "It's hammer and Frisbee time," I mumbled to myself sarcastically.

"Yep," the man popped the 'p'. "Most of us are trying to keep the creatures contained to that one block. I saw Iron Man blasting off some of the creatures off of some of my friends," the last sentence contained a great deal of puzzlement. "Though you won't be seeing much of us this time. These things... They're vicious. They've got claws the size of my foot. A lot of us are going to die where they gut us," the sentence was spoken so matter-of-factly, my hands paused on the man's leg, bringing my eyes to his unblinking dots of black.

"What do you mean?" I swallowed in an attempt to chase away the dry, rough feeling in my throat.

"Those beasts... They're smart. One of my friends - she's a... Telepath of sorts... Says they're an intelligent hivemind," the man's broad, warm palm closed over mine. "The beasts leave only the ones that won't get help in time. They can smell death from a mile away. That's how they hunt," his voice was gentle, soothing over the sudden ringing of my ears.

"I..." My mind stuttered, a sticky ball of anxiety, fear and sorrow gathering up in my chest. "I'm so sorry. I..."

"We know what we're doing, out there, we know the risks," his smile was tight and full of grief. "You're doing your part here, makin' sure our babies have parents. We're out there makin' sure our streets are safe. Such is life," the grin acceptance in his pitch-black, small eyes set fire to the tension in my chest.

I exploded, inside out. The sudden burst of decisive, clear-headed energy made the objects around me vibrate, metal resonated my sorrow and my determination, the wood heated up with the force of Mother Nature itself responding to an act of cruelty bestowed upon her creations.

As soon as the man's bandage was finished and he headed out, I grabbed my old, ratty backpack, hastily shoving things into it in a semi-organized fashion. Clean linen strips, bandages, some premade elixirs and draughts, a few jars of salves, carefully tucked in-between the cloth. As I knocked on the door of Odette's office to retrieve the last few items I would need for my reckless journey, the door handle turned on its own, letting me observe her tending a woman who's skin was peeled off most of her back.

"Can't you see I'm..." Odette exclaimed, throwing her free hand towards the door, which did not budge. She turned on her heel, eyes widening when she observed my wide, solid stance in the doorway, lips immediately curling into a small grin. "I understand. Take what you need. It's not wise to resist Her call," the words were spoken carefully, as if not to spook me, before Odette resumed her delicate work of putting the injured woman back together.

Without a word, I finished packing and left through the front door, not needing more than my scarf and my light sweater to keep me from the freezing gusts of wind. My very core was the centrefold of an active volcano, bursting with white-hot bursts of energy as I approached the injured people on my way towards the terrible screeching noise.

This far out, most of the injured were able to make it to Odette's or to the other healer, who's name I had found out only then, but they were thankful for the water I offered them. Not once did they question me: my star-patterned scarf, out of all things, had become somewhat of a symbol for me among the different folk. Mutants approached me fearlessly, giving generous updates on the direction of the battle and the hotspots I probably should have avoided.

The louder the screeching noises grew, the more people needed my help. The stops took longer, my painkillers were becoming a short supply, the main relief provided by a couple of mid-range, mid-strength energy manipulating mutants that began to tail me after I offered to patch them up in exchange for help with the injured.

It was as if I instinctually knew where I was most needed, my decisions were seldom my own. Me and the two mutants bid a haste goodbye after loading up their truck with the injured, although deep inside, I knew that the amount of corpses, bloody and messy, littering the streets had begun to get to them. In a normal state of mind, I would not have been able to look at them either: then, each mangled, broken body only added fuel to the fire within me.

As I stepped foot in an intersection where someone had piled up bent and broken cars, the shadow flying over my head shrieked, taking a fluid nose dive towards another, smaller flying figure. I dropped flat on the ground, the contents of my backpack clattering, watching the small figure in the sky blast the beast with an off-blue ray of concentrated energy. As soon as the creature began it's graceless drop, Tony turned around and flew off, looking none worse for wear.

At the very centre of my chest, a faint feeling of fondness and hope blossomed into tiny little flowers that soothed the aching sorrow for the dead. Each warcry of the beasts from another world fed the anger, the anguish Gaia seemed to exhibit at their intrusion; the revolt I felt upon laying my eyes on one of them made me sweat, hands clenching into fists until my skin crawled under my nails.

The last part of me that wanted to pretend I was in control was gone; my soft, untrained body a mere vessel for a force stronger than me, stronger than anything. Noise around me grew in pitch, some of the creatures circling around my hiding spot cluelessly, aimlessly, as if they could not find what they were looking for.

I moved spots in a daring series of runs, bringing me almost to the portal itself, and the hellish lizards dived into my previous sanctuary, shattering the concrete and the wood of the house under the amused black stares of glassless windows.

The realization set it - they could not see me. Or perceive me properly, I deduced, inspecting the creatures for any sort of orifice except for their mouths and finding them to lack eyes and ears.

My own stare fell onto Sorcerer Supreme, floating amongst a variety of moving golden circles; I was close enough to hear him talking in a language I did not know. Wanda was hovering nearby, holding up a wall of red energy, protecting the chanting sorcerer.

A united screech invoked a shiver from every living being within it's reach, the creatures circling the portal for the last time before flying off in haphazard directions as the portal slowly began to close. I was prepared to cheer, yet, something stopped me; not a second later, the circles surrounding Stephen dimmed as the man himself jumped up onto his feet in alarm, screaming something unintelligible at the Scarlet Witch.

The overturned food cart I was hiding behind slowly began to creep towards the portal. A couple of rats, a pigeon - the animals flew in front of my eyes, rapidly, as they struggled against the unseen force. My hands grasped the handlebars of the cart in vain, I struggled against the force, seeing a moment of confusion on Wanda's face as I floated- no, rocketed past her as Stephen's golden magic forcefully pushed her out of the portal's reach.

It's size no bigger than a doorway, the vile thing blew cold, dry air under my sweater, muffling Stephen's cursing as we briefly collided during our violent expulsion into another world.

And then, there was darkness.

Taglist! @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

#practical alchemy #bun writes #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #stephen strange x reader x tony stark

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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zargsnake · 3 years

Photo

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

Word Count: 2309 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

* * *

Two Years Ago

Shmi sits at a desk by the windowsill in Watto’s shop, composing fake documentation for a shipment to a more legitimate planet. She used to do this kind of thing all the time for Gardulla on Nal Hutta, and she's very good at it. Forging and faking are probably her best skills. She knows legal-speak and formatting; she has a knack for coming up with random numbers and convincing names. When she has a sample of handwriting or writing style from a real person, she can imitate it flawlessly, which she has done for business leaders, crime lords, and even Senators. When she doesn't have anything from anyone real, she invents someone. She has no honest idea what the closest Senator's name really is, but she's invented a self-serious personality and a squiggly autograph that has tricked docking-receivers as far away as Rodia.

Watto has little use of this power of hers for his day-to-day needs, but he sometimes comes up with plots to trick his neighbors using Shmi’s forgeries. And, sometimes, like now, he needs her tricks to get rid of stuff, like these ten tons of toxic waste he ended up with from a bad bet, and that he now wants to pass off as fertilizer and sell to a gullible offworld farmer who won't be able to trace it back to him.

Writing isn't bad work. It’s challenging, and, malicious as it is, she knows she could enjoy it, if she let herself: getting into people's heads, living other lives, for just a short while. It is like solving a puzzle, to figure out how to make other people believe something that isn’t true. The cruel intention of the trickery is not her own, it never is, so she doesn't let that aspect of her work bother her, not anymore.

The only bad part, from her point of view, is the knowledge that her words get to go somewhere that she does not.

And the only good part, really, is that she gets to look at her little boy as she writes. He sits on the desk, next to her cobbled-together, whirring word-processor. He is carefully cleaning a fragile hyper-carburetor with a rag, putrid green gear-soap, and a very serious expression.

Suddenly Crix Spartak pokes head through the window: “Skywalkers!”

“Crix!!” Anakin nearly drops the carb, but of course his reflexes are too fast. He spins around on the desk and grins at the gladiator.

Crix leans on the windowsill -- then lifts his arm quickly from the heated clay, and leans just one calloused elbow on the sill. “Good morning, Ani.” He reaches across and tussles his hair. The boy nearly glows with happiness.

Shmi raises her eyebrows at the man her son admires so much. “Good morning, Crix. Can we help you?”

“D’you wanna go for a spin on the old speeder?”

“YES,” answers Anakin.

“We have a lot of work to do. Not all of us have 6 free days out of 7,” answers Shmi.

“I don't have any work, Mom!”

“I can think of one or two things for you,” she tells him.

“Just a loop round the block, Shmi? You'll be back in a minute.” Crix rests his head on his hand and smiles at her, looking just like a puppy.

She looks at him with a very deliberate expression. “I can't.”

“Take me!” says Anakin, heedlessly.

“Ani! You need to stay with me while I work. I don't want you zooming around, testing the limit on your tracker-bomb.”

“I've calculated for that,” says Crix. “Your tracker-bombs are the same as mine. The loop I planned wouldn't go anywhere near the limit.”

“Please, Mom? I'll work twice as hard.”

“No need for that.”

“I'll bring him back in ten minutes.” Shmi does not look convinced. “Five minutes.”

“Please?” Anakin begs again.

“Ten minutes,” she concedes.

Anakin sets the half-cleaned carb down, crawls off the desk, moves the carb onto a shelf, and climbs back onto the desk and over the word-processor into Crix’s arms.

“I'll bring him right back to you,” says Crix.

“If you don't, I will kill you,” says Shmi.

“I'm more afraid of you than any gladiator alive!” he tells her, laughing.

“Good! You should be!”

“Is that YOUR speeder?!” Anakin interrupts them.

“Yup! -- Well. Not really. But I won it, anyway.”

“It's BEAUTIFUL!”

“Ani!” Her son looks at her. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry!”

“Have fun.”

“I will!”

Crix grins at her, drops a big yellow flower on her desk, and points at it. She rolls her eyes and he blushes and carries Anakin to the speeder to drive him around. Shmi can't compose at all without her little muse at her side. She sits there, worrying, as they drive somewhere out of sight. A minute passes, and she picks up the flower. She doesn't recognize it. It must be an import. He must have won this, too.

They return in just eight minutes.

* * *

One Year Ago

Anakin is not supposed to be in the audience of the death match. No one wants him here, not his master, not his mother, not even Crix himself.

But he just had to come. Everyone is talking about it. He’s never known anyone so talked-about, so famous. He feels so proud. Crix is like family. And everyone, all over town, is raving about him, how unstoppable he is, what a bloody, powerful killer he is. And now Crix’s master has rounded up a spectacular squad from faraway worlds, incredible people who are paying huge amounts for the chance to fight him, to fight Crix, to fight his mom’s cool boyfriend.

They say there’s monster-men, like Wookiees, and there’s even a Mando, whatever that means. Everyone is saying they’re crazy. Everyone is saying all his opponents are gonna die, shot by Crix’s bespoke mega-blaster or crushed in Crix’s bare fists. Anakin can picture it, but he can’t really believe it; he has only ever seen those hands used for good. It'll be Crix’s grandest fight yet, maybe even the grandest fight that's ever happened in the universe. No one can keep Anakin away from such a prospect!

He has an average amount of chores, but he sets his droids on them. His newest and, by far, most ambitious droid, C-3PO, isn't much for cleaning or repairing, yet, but he can speak, a little, and write, a little more. His mom bought Anakin a fairy-tale book and assigned him to copy out the letters to improve his handwriting. Anakin sets Threepio on the task instead, and hopes that his mom won't be able to tell.

He does feel guilty, but he's too excited to feel that guilty. He sneaks out without telling her. There was a sandstorm this morning; fortunately it has passed, but the leftover wind keeps kicking sand into the air.

The arena is in a different neighborhood than the slave houses. Anakin lifts up the tarp of a delivery truck and hides in there to hitch a ride. To his surprise, the truck is full of gross little creatures called gizka. They crowd around him and rub their big faces on his legs. He pulls one onto his lap and pets its soft horns and noses.

“I wonder why they're taking you to the arena? ... Oh, I bet the gladiators are gonna slaughter you.”

He finds it kind of funny, in a sad way, that these little animals are so cheerful; that their doom is close, and they have no idea. He pretends his hand is a sword and chops it on their heads, making them coo and squawk. He laughs.

Once he hears a crowd outside, he sneaks out of the truck and hides among the people. He is far from the only urchin running around, but he does not pick pockets. His mom forbids it, and they wouldn't be allowed to keep the money, anyway.

He follows the other children and soon finds the hole in the arena’s wall which they use to sneak in and out. He fits inside the thin crack without too much difficulty, and flits around the dirty, dark area behind the stadium seating. He finds a spot with a good view, between the legs of some pink-skinned person. He leans on the bench and rests his head on his arms, and watches the battles with wide eyes.

He almost doesn't recognize Crix, in a ridiculous helmet with a big feather, but the nasty red scar across his shirtless torso gives his identity away. He's touched that scar; it feels rough and scratchy.

Crix is more than just a killer; he is a performer. He yells and growls and taunts; he makes obscene gestures and even takes bites out of his opponents, both animals and people. Anakin feels shocked and uncomfortable to see him this way, but it does not lessen his affection for him. It only increases his amazement, that one person could contain two such different personalities.

Just as the pilots and farmers had predicted, Crix wins every battle with ease. His main strategy involves shooting to stun, weaken, and disarm his opponents, and then taking them down with glamorous, bloodthirsty wrestling moves. Anakin has never seen such gratuitous and extended violence before, though he has seen plenty of people die, from podrace explosions to mechanical accidents. Until today, the bloodiest thing he ever saw was someone's tracker-bomb explode their head, but some of these deaths far surpass that one. When he starts to feel dizzy, he looks away and takes deep breaths, but he is too invested to look away for long.

Something about all this murder makes him feel cold. But it isn't a real cold. And it isn't nearly as bothersome as this heat or this wind. He rests his sweaty forehead on his arms and swallows his own spit, but it is a weak comfort. The bench shakes under his arms as the audience bangs their feet on it. Anakin marvels at their energy. He wishes he was having as much fun as they are. He really is trying to enjoy himself, and he sort of is. The thrill of it all is similar to podracing, and the triumphs are satisfying. He supposes he will grow into liking it.

After forty minutes of this action, the host announces the next opponent -- the Mando, Chahlee Tiango. Anakin watches the helmeted warrior posture and pose as the audience frantically cheers and boos.

The little boy is starting to feel bored. This would be much more exciting if they were flying around on fast ships, not shooting and punching each other. The only real difference anymore is the color of the blood. But Chahlee looks like a human, meaning he'll just bleed red, which isn't anything new.

Anakin looks at Crix, whose helmet cracked in half in the last battle. Now that his face is visible, Anakin can enjoy his confident smile. He wishes his mom were here to see her boyfriend winning so much. He supposes she would hate it.

As Anakin's thoughts wander, the audience jumps to its feet and screams uproariously. Anakin fastens his eyes back on the battle.

Crix was shot right in the chest. He crumples. A wave of sand lifts from the ground and nearly covers him, like a blanket, hiding him, as if he were never there. Tiango takes a gleeful lap around the arena.

The audience is screaming far too loudly to hear anything from the announcer. The bench is shaking too much to remain a suitable armrest. Anakin stands up straight and stares ahead.

The pink legs that had framed Anakin's view now jump and move around with everyone else, obscuring the arena with cloaks and pants and boots. The other children in this hideaway start moving around, their own views also disrupted, trying to find better spots. Some of them move in front of Anakin. He lets them. He backs off further into the shade.

“Crix…” His initial shock starts to wear away, and he feels tears cross his parched face. “You were supposed to win! They all said you would!”

He had to lose eventually. No one can win every time. Mom told me he would lose, sooner or later. Everyone dies. It's okay.

It really doesn't feel okay. But this feels like podracing, too. Failing. Losing the game. He has been close to death himself a few times, especially when Sebulba is in the match.

He wipes his eyes and holds his fingers in his ears, which are popping from the terrifying decibel level of this audience. He squints his eyes and waits for the volume to settle and the people to sit back down.

What am I waiting for, though? They'll just continue with Tiango as the new champion. I don't want to watch that.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to get another good view, but one of the other children accidentally brushes up against him, and the feeling of being touched makes him deeply angry. He doesn’t trust these other kids. He doesn’t like them. They can’t understand. That wasn’t their friend who just died. It’s too loud here. And it isn’t going to get quiet. Not for a long time.

He worms out the crack in the arena wall and sees a truck that looks similar to the one he used to get here. He hides under the tarp again -- it is now empty inside. The truck jostles along, though it doesn't take exactly the same route back. It takes Anakin a little closer to home, but then it makes a turn he did not expect. He wonders if the truck will eventually come back around to the slave houses. He has no way of knowing. He fears it will wander out of range of his tracker-bomb. He jumps off the cart and walks the rest of the way home.

Chapter 10: Gafia Chumpi

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #shmi skywalker #anakin skywalker #crix spartak #chahlee tiango #scifi #action #cw violence #cw gore

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hunflowers · 5 years

Text

Femme Fatale

Word Count: 7.3k

Requested? Nope, but you always can here :)

Mood Board

A/N: I hope you enjoy my rendition of mafia!Harry bc I lowkey do not. Enjoy the smut and maybe leave some feedback when you’re done! *nose boops*

part 2 :)

The rivalry went back decades.

Growing up, they had no choice but to hate each other. It was practically in their blood because that’s how their ancestors were towards one another.

Besides, they tried the whole friendship thing when they were children, and it didn’t even work out then. Simply at first because their families forbade it. But they soon realized how annoying the other was as the years went on. And how badly they wish they could just strangle one another because that would be easier than ever becoming friendly.

It all started with their great-grandfathers, as most old rivalry stories do. They once worked in unison, in harmony as coworkers, cofounders, and friends. Once poor, they rose to the top as a team. But, when money started to become more prevalent, so did the truth of their relationship. They both wanted seniority, to run the business as a King rather than as a team. So, when heads were clashing and neither of them could bring themselves to kill the other, they did the only thing left, and split the business.

And from that point on, peace no longer existed.

Not only did the two men hate each other, but all of their workers started to hate the opposing side. No one thought there could be two leading imports in the city, because the city just wasn’t big enough for both egos. But even though chaos ensued ever since the split, people could say peace was also created. Because everyone was afraid to start a war they couldn’t finish. So, even though there were the casual breakouts and fights, nothing too major ever happened to the point where the city would practically cave in.

Except for now that is. Because Harry and Y/N hated each other that much. Everyone was afraid the other would snap soon and that could only lead to destruction.

Of course, the pair like to think they have it under control, but in reality, one wrong word spoken and the other is as good as dead.

People wondered who the Hell left them in charge because they were some of the most hot headed people to have ever walked this planet. But, in reality they really weren’t left a choice but to run the companies.

Harry’s father was never too into the whole business. Yeah, he got the job done but it wasn’t his first choice career wise. And seeing as he was an only child, he was left no choice but to stay in charge until Harry was ready. And the second he saw that Harry was mature enough for this responsibility, he immediately passed the throne down to him, thankful to have that weight off his shoulders.

As for Y/N, her father wanted her to have nothing to do with the business because it wasn’t a woman’s responsibility. He was thinking of handing the leadership down to his nephew, because he had always looked up to Y/N’s dad and had dreamed of being in charge one day. Of course, she found the whole ordeal ridiculous because the job was meant for her, and no one else.

Y/N was the eldest of her siblings, neither of them being boys. So, when the time would come the company had no choice but to fall in her hands. And even though the time came a lot quicker than she anticipated, she was beyond ready to take on the responsibility. Just a few days past her twenty-first birthday, Y/N’s father had died of a heart attack that was completely unwarranted. He took excellent care of his health, so to say it was a surprise was an understatement. But, even though the company sprung up on her, she prepared most of her life to be in charge and she wasn’t going to let her father down.

Despite Harry’s many attempts to prove her wrong and that she’d be a failure at running things, she would actually prove him wrong time and time again because products exported smoothly and income imported even smoother. And what she makes in a week is generally what he makes every month.

So, she’s doing pretty good she thinks.

But they did try to be friends once. When they were eleven, they shared a few of the same friends so their paths always crossed. So they decided they wouldn't be hostile towards one another because that was the rest of their family, not them. Fast forward to the age of twelve, and Harry and Y/N nearly get in a fist fight due to Harry hurting Y/N’s best friend, and Y/N doing the same to his.

Clearly, history would repeat itself and thus the two joined their families in hating the other.

That led them to where they are now, thirteen years later, and still a lot of hatred in the air.

Albeit, there was the rare occurrence of sexual tension in the air too but they choose not to dwell on that.

It was a one night thing. They were both completely plastered, and they hardly even remember it happening. Of course they tell different stories of that night, and it actually drew them farther apart, but again, they choose to not think about it at all.

It was only a one time thing.

But today. . . today really solidified their ongoing rivalry. Y/N was awoken this morning by the loud shrill of her ringtone blasting in her dark bedroom. She was tempted to not answer it because everyone knew not to call her so early in the morning, but then again, everyone knew not to call her so early in the morning so it must only be an emergency.

And it was the news on the other line that broke her heart and had Y/N flying out of her bed faster than light travelled. Earlier that morning, her youngest sister, Serena, was found in the bathroom of the local club, knocked unconscious whilst her clothes were nearly ripped to shreds. She had been drugged, raped, and stripped of her dignity and Y/N felt responsible. This ache in her chest was prominent because she felt it was her fault for some reason.

After their father’s passing, Serena had gone off the rails for a little while. She took it especially hard because even though all three of his daughters were his babies, Serena being the youngest was his special baby, and she found it very difficult to cope with the loss. So, when Serena did a little too much of experimenting with drugs or drinking, Y/N knew taking care of her baby sister was her main priority.

Hearing the news that her sister had been violated, Y/N couldn’t help but take it to heart. She hardly cared about the outfit she was wearing or what state her hair was in when she arrived at the hospital, all she wanted was to get to her sister.

When she entered her room, she was greeted by her mother and her other sister, Francesca, or Franny for short, already by her bed.

“How is she?” Y/N spoke quickly, taking in the look of her sister sleeping on the hospital bed.

Franny stood up so frantic Y/N could sit down and catch her breath after she practically ran through the hospital halls to find the room.

“She hasn’t woken up yet, but the doctor says she’s in stable condition,” her mother spoke, a shaky breath leaving her lips as she squeezes her daughter's hand.

Y/N bit her bottom lip to stop the urge to burst into tears, keeping her stone cold face in tact. “I swear, I am going to kill whoever did this. I’ll kill them myself, with my own two bare hands.”

“Y/N, please, not now,” Mom hissed. She hated that her daughter had gotten so involved in the business, and she most certainly hated that Y/N got her father’s temper. Her daughter hurting people is the last thing she wants to think about, especially while her other daughter is currently on a hospital bed.

“What, you don’t want whoever did this to pay?”

“Of course I do! By going to prison, not by my daughter’s two hands,” she glared at her eldest.

Y/N huffed, sifting back in her chair and trying to tie back her knotty hair in some sort of bun to get it out of her face before she screams. “Well, my way is a whole lot easier, and I can then guarantee whoever did gets justice served. Who knows what the legal system will do. Give ‘em three months maybe.”

“How about both of you shut your mouths, she’s waking up,” Franny spoke up, gaining the two’s attention immediately. Y/N sat forward, grabbing Serena’s right hand in her own.

The blinding light from the lamp above her head made Serena squint her eyes shut at the vivid brightness, her face distorting into in an uncomfortable grimace before she was able to open her eyes without the light hurting. She looked around at her family, confusion striking her features as she realized where she was.

“Wha– what happened?” She spoke hoarsely, her voice scratchy from probably being excessively dry.

When it was explained what had happened to her, she immediately broke down into tears, which then caused Y/N to let out her own tears. Again, that ping of guilt hitting her right in the heart.

“I know the police are going to ask you questions once they see you’re awake, but do you have any idea who did this to you? Anyone being suspicious towards you last night?” Y/N asked, keeping her voice in a hushed tone to try not to startle her sister in this fragile state.

Maybe it wasn’t the best timing for this but police would be here soon and this was Y/N’s job to find the person who did this, who hurt her family, her blood.

Serena swallowed, closing her eyes to try and remember anything from the night before. She started to shake her head because most of the night was a blur in her head but then she did remember one specific detail that was probably the most important.

Her eyes snapped open as she looked at Y/N, the realization of how important the detail is dawning on her. “He had a uh– tattoo on his arm. It was the. . . Styles emblem.”

Y/N practically shot out of her seat, fuming at just the name of Styles. She hardly left with a goodbye before she was storming out of the building and into her car. Of course it was someone from his side that had the audacity to do something like this. To step onto her side of the city, to do this to her sister.

If you know Y/N, you know her family, so whoever it was knew exactly what they were getting themselves into, and that just made Y/N even angrier. Her hands were practically itching to grab ahold of this guys neck and twist it like a rope.

She zipped her way in and out of traffic, trying to make it to her destination without any fatalities but still getting there as fast as possible. And when she did get there she hardly remembered to put the car in park and to shut it off before she was running inside and to the elevator.

She got a lot of nasty looks from everyone that saw her figure running across the lobby, and she knew why but she didn’t give the time of day to care. Because the boss herself was stepping onto the wrong territory.

When she made it to the right floor, and to the right door, she pounded her fist rapidly on the wood, urging anyone inside to open the fucking door.

And when the door finally did swing open, she was face to face with the one face she was hoping to not see anytime soon but yet at this time she couldn’t avoid him any longer.

“You better have a good reason to be knocking on my door this fucking early in the morning,” Harry spat down at the girl in front of him.

Y/N looked over his shoulder to see two people, a random guy and a girl on the couch in his office, both nearly naked. Then she looked at Harry and saw that his own clothes were disheveled as he probably haphazardly tossed them on his body to open the door.

“Really, in your office?” Y/N droned, pushing past him and into the large space and giving the two a nasty look to state get out.

“I don’t really need your fucking comments so how about you just leave?”

“No, they have to though,” she gestured to the two who were looking around the room quite uncomfortably, not exactly sure what to do with themselves in this moment.

“You don’t boss me around.”

Y/N sighed at his frustrating attitude, trying to keep her cool in front of bystanders, but it was pretty difficult when she was dealing with the most difficult man on the planet. “Harry. . .” she began, looking at him with these pleading eyes that meant something was wrong. Y/N hated looking weak, especially in front of him, but if it got him to cooperate for once, then so be it.

“It’s important business, that they have no part in.”

He looked at Y/N with a hard look, really not wanting to let his fun night come to a close all because she said so. But, he could tell from the way her eyes were the slightest shade of red and how she was still dressed in her pajamas in front of him that whatever this was must have some sort of emergent reasoning.

He looked to Dave and Michelle, the pair who were still so confused about what was happening, a sorrowful look on his face. A look Y/N never thought she would see. They got the idea, quickly scrambling for their clothes before leaving his office. Harry closed the door behind them, licking at his bottom lip before biting it and turning back around to Y/N with that stone cold face she’s grown used to.

“Well, you better get to explaining what the fuck this is all about before I lose my mind.”

Y/N took a shallow breath, running her hand through her very messy hair and speaking up, “Someone on your side hurt my sister, and I need you to find out who.”

“Hurt your sister?” He looked at her with a bored face, going to his big chair behind his desk and plopping down on it, propping his feet onto his desk and leaning back with his arms resting behind his head.

“She was drugged and raped and she says she saw your emblem on him, so, chop chop boss man and find out who the fuck was out last night.”

Shock laced his features at the r word but he soon went back to his bored look, and scoffing at the idea that one of his men would do something so vile. Serena was known to exaggerate and to lie about things ever since she first got her hands on drugs and Harry had no choice but to disbelieve the claims.

“I highly doubt it was one of my guys. Your sister has a tendency to. . . lie. Plus, if she was drugged there’s a low chance she’ll remember something as specific as my emblem but, I assume, nothing else,” he pointed out, raising his eyebrows at Y/N as if to say I win*.

Steam could practically be seen escaping Y/N’s ears as her face set into an angry frown and becoming increasingly red by the moment. Why did she think he would be considerate once? It was her mistake to think he had any ounce of a heart in his body, but even though she knew he would be difficult to work with, she was still beyond pissed at his response.

She stomped forward to the front of the desk, standing opposite him as she leaned forward and grabbed his white button-down shirt in her fist and yanking him forward so his body was in an awkward position and so his face was inches from her own. His smirk settled deeper on his face as his eyes trailed up and down her own face and her figure that was leaning over the desk. Because she never gave herself the time to change out of her pajamas, her silk camisole top revealed a lot of what was underneath to Harry; especially the lack of a bra.

Y/N could practically see the hormones flowing around in his head as he looked like he couldn’t give two shits about the way she was practically ripping his shirt off his body. She brought her other hand up and hooked it under his jaw, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to only look at her eyes.

“I figured I would ask nicely before I kill the prick myself. But there is no playing nice with you, is there Styles?” Y/N seethed, gritting out her words, pushing his body back harshly into his chair.

He laughed, genuinely laughed at the prospect of her being. . . nice. He ran his fingers through his hair, getting up from his position in his chair and walking around to meet her at the front of her desk. His slim fingers took the strap of her camisole, gently rolling it in his fingers before bringing it up and snapping it back down on her skin. “Not when you’re dressed like this, love.” Y/N pushed his hand off her body, standing up straighter in her spot and giving him the nastiest glare she could muster.

“Fine, but don’t be alarmed when you get the news someone died,” she stated, walking back over to the direction of his office door.

“You won’t be killing anyone, Y/N. And if you do, you leave me no choice but to kill one of yours,” he called out as she began to walk down the hall.

She stopped in her tracks, turning around to face him, to see that he was leaning against the doorway of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest. Y/N laughed at his proposition, looking down at her feet, stepping back in his direction with the tiniest foot forward.

“I think whoever raping my sister and then me killing them justifies this whole, eye for an eye thing, don’t ya think?” She hummed, giving him her final deadpan glare before, again, walking away from him and beginning her business for the day.

❊ ❊

A few days went by.

Y/N was closer to finding the guy, but it seems finding someone with a specific emblem tattooed on them proves to be quite difficult when a lot of guys have that same emblem tattooed on them in the exact same spot.

Cameras in the club did little to nothing to help her in the case, seeing as the place is dark, and that it’s sort of illegal to have surveillance in the bathroom. But her team was working hard and the more she didn’t have the guy in her hands, the more angry she became, and the more determined she was to freaking find him.

“All I’m saying is if you drop to your knees, he’ll be more willing to help you,” Y/N’s best friend Flo shrugged, taking a sip from her water as she leaned back in the chair.

“And I don’t need his help, he’s proven to be useless countless times.”

“Then why ask in the first place? Remind me again, because I’m a little lost.”

Y/N turned her head away from her laptop screen, looking at Flo with a bored look, sighing as she closed her laptop to give her friend her undivided attention. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

“Yeah, like how I think this whole ‘Oh, I hate Harry,’ thing is bullshit. Why go to him if you know he won’t help?” Flo questioned, leaning forward with her arms resting on the mahogany desk.

“Maybe he grew some human decency since the last time I saw him?”

Flo squinted her eyes at her best friend, not exactly accepting that as an answer. It was for one pretty vague, and Flo knew her friend a bit better than that. There was something she wasn’t telling her, and she’d be damned if she left this room not knowing.

“Hm,” Flo hummed, sitting back against the leather chair, then taking another dramatic sip of her water. Y/N gave her a look of distaste as if to ask, is there a problem?

“And, when was the last time you saw him?”

Two weeks ago.

For that. . . thing they don’t talk about.

From what Flo knows, last time Y/N saw Harry was to discuss business settlements six months prior. So, if there’s no business that needs to be handled, there would be no reason for Y/N to see Harry, right? That’s a secret Y/N so desperately wants to keep. She’s ashamed of the night. Beyond words she’s ashamed and it’s only because she gave into temptation.

For a long time, she had Flo telling her that she should let go of this family feud because how could Y/N miss out on an opportunity to be with someone as handsome as Harry? As powerful as Harry? If they were together, there would be absolutely nothing stopping them, because not only were they good at what they do, but so many people respected them that the city would have no choice but to accept that they’re a couple.

But, that went against decades upon decades of family rivalry. The two would be damned if they were the reason this, basically family tradition, came to an end.

So, Y/N had no choice but to lie to her best friend, to avoid life as she knows it spiralling out of control.

She pondered in fake wonder for a moment before answering, “I think a little over six months ago.”

Flo nodded her head in understandment, taking in Y/N’s words but not exactly believing them. There’s a reason Y/N and Flo are best friends, and it’s because the two are very much alike. They’re sarcastic, they’re funny, they’re smart, they take their job seriously, and so many more reasons beyond that. But one defining reason is that they both understand the other so well. They can see right through each other. So for Y/N to think Flo doesn’t know she’s lying, is quite offensive to Flo.

Y/N tried to not break eye contact when she was talking, but she did, and that was the main giveaway that she was lying, even if she only looked away for a brief second. Flo had her down pat, much to Y/N’s demise.

And Flo wasn’t going to sit here and not call her out on it.

“Okay, and now I want the truth.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up, and she pursed her lips whilst shaking her head, “I don’t know what-”

“The. Truth. Y/N.”

“That was-”

“Now.”

Y/N huffed, looking down to her hands that she now placed in her lap. Under her friend’s hard gaze, Y/N’s face began to heat up with the embarrassment running through her veins. There really shouldn’t be any reason to be embarrassed about this, but she is. She hates that it happened, but more importantly she hates how she caved to him.

Glancing back up for a moment, Y/N bit her lip softly, feeling exceptionally small as her friend continued to wait for an answer. Taking a deep breath, Y/N sat up straighter in her chair, finally speaking the truth, “Two weeks ago.”

And now it was Flo’s turn to raise her eyebrows, jaw dropping practically down to the floor.

Then Y/N got to explaining.

❊ ❊

It was a Thursday night. Not even the weekend. Y/N had found herself in Central City, which is basically what everyone within the two groups calls the place on the border that separates the sides. She was just outside of Central City, dealing with a few of her loyal dealers all day, and in Central City is one of her favorite bars, so after a long day of working, she wanted to treat herself to a few casual drinks. Plus, she has a small crush on one of the bartenders there, so she figured that night she just may get lucky.

Little did she know, Harry had been just outside of Central City all day too, dealing with a group of rogues who thought they could steal from him and get away with it. They didn’t. So, after an exhausting day of interrogation and torture, Harry needed a drink. And what better place than his favorite bar in Central City?

She was there first, chatting up with Ben the bartender. She was laughing, drinking, listening to the horrible singer up at karaoke; just having an amazing time. Everyone knew who she was but they were all too drunk to worry about anything so they went on about their nights as if the Queen of half their city wasn’t in their presence.

But then everyone went silent, and the only thing that could be heard was Y/N’s laugh as Ben says something ridiculously funny. When she noticed everyone had gone quiet, she looked around the room to look for why no one was talking. It was quite eerie that one second everyone was having the time of their life to now everyone looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Then her eyes met his, and she nearly dropped the glass in her hand.

But she wasn’t going to leave just because he showed up. It was her favorite bar. And he felt exactly the same way because it was his favorite bar.

About fifteen seconds of awkward silence and intense staring went down before the two got fed up with all of the eyes focused on them.

“What’re you all looking at?” They snapped in unison. Quickly everyone went back to what they were doing, trying not to worry about a fight breaking out or a screaming match going down. And their worry soon started to dissolve as all the women began to fantasize about Harry and all the men wish they were worthy of being with Y/N.

Unfortunately for the two, the only seat left available in the place was the one on the right of Y/N at the bar. And when Harry sauntered over, going to sit down on the stool, Y/N was quick to stop him claiming she was saving the seat. He looked at her blankly, knowing fully well no one was going to sit there. He swatted her hand away, sitting down on the wood with a plush seat, quickly ordering himself a drink.

They tried not to converse throughout the night no matter how badly they wanted to snap at one another. But the more they thought about yelling, the more they drank, and the more they drank, the more willing they were to talk to each other.

That’s how their night progressed. By the end of it, they somehow came across the topic of sex. And how neither of them had gotten any in what felt like forever. In reality it actually hadn’t been long at all for either of them, but they tended to be dramatic, plus they were teetering on the tipsy-drunk mindset.

“Worst part is, he left his socks on! Fucking socks! It’s one thing to last thirty seconds, but to leave your socks on? Nearly killed the guy,” Y/N grimaced, recalling the event from last week.

Harry was having a hard time keeping in his laughs and judgements, but Y/N was okay with it because that was the whole point of telling the story in the first place. “Okay, you win this time, that is worse.”

“This time? I always win, Styles.” Y/N was practically gloating as she finished off the rest of her martini. He rolled his eyes at her words, shaking his head in response.

And no one could really predict the future events unfolding. It was quite out of the ordinary, and Y/N hardly knew what she was doing until after she had done it.

This thought dawned her hazy mind, and then she was placing her hand on his shoulder and looking at him with this lust and admiration she never thought she had inside of her. The moment he felt her hand on his shoulder, he looked at her quickly and nearly crumbled at the way she was looking at him.

If no one were in this bar with them, he wouldn’t hesitate to take her right then and there, but alas people were all around them. So, he had to keep it in his pants for just a little longer.

He leaned closer to her, taking in the scent of her heavenly perfume as she breathed in his ravishing cologne. They were so close, their lips barely grazed over each other’s, the tips of their noses brushing together softly as if it never really happened.

“What’s on your mind?” He wondered, his right hand coming down on her thigh, awfully close to her now aching center.

They were positive people were most likely watching them like hawks and that news of this just might spread around very fast by tomorrow morning. But, they just didn’t care. Y/N placed her hand on top of his, slowly dragging it even further up her thigh, so his fingertips just reached her dampening underwear.

His lips parted at the feeling, his eyes widening in awe as he stretched his fingers to again barely touch her where she really wanted him. She almost moaned at the feeling but kept the noises inside, not wanting to bring anymore attention towards them.

He laced her hand that was on his shoulder in his hair, softly tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck. She brought her wet lips up to his ear, whispering, “To see what it’s like for you. . . to win.”

He looked at her with an open-mouthed smirk, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he hastily stood up and placed a few bills down on the bar to pay for their drinks. Y/N grabbed her purse, making her way to the door, Harry following behind her.

When they finally arrived to his place, stepping in the threshold of the foyer, all barriers fell down and all morals left their minds. Their lips were locked in a feverish kiss as he had her pinned up against the cool wooden surface of his door. Her legs were hiked up to wrap around his hips, high heels abandoned on the floor as she pressed the heels of her foot onto his ass, pushing his front harder on her core, creating some sort of friction between them.

He broke apart their lips, tangling his fingers in her hair as he tugged her head to one side to open up the view of her neck that he wanted so desperately to mark up. The second he bit down on her skin and licked the area, and peppered kisses up and down her throat, Y/N let out a moan she couldn’t suppress anymore. And then Harry smirked against her skin.

“It’s so ironic,” he started, grinding his hips harder into her as he brought his head up to look her in the eyes. “Out there, you’ve got people at your feet, looking up to you like an actual queen, not afraid to kill me at any given moment. But in here. . . I’ve got you writhing beneath my touch, just itching to be touched down here.”

And then he cupped her cunt, fingers petting her damp thong, having her mewl at the small but impactful contact. She wished he would just shut up and just fuck her already, but she could tell he was having fun with this; her being so complacent and not fighting him and instead agreeing that she was in fact desperate for him to touch her.

He pushed her skirt up her hips, getting better access to her pretty pussy, pushing aside her thong, gathering up her slickness onto his fingers. He brought his fingers up to his face, admiring the shine before wrapping his lips around them. If Y/N was standing, her knees surely would’ve gave out from under her at the sight. And she couldn’t help but get ever wetter as he sucked the digits, pulling them out with a pop.

“Sweet. . . like honey,” he grinned before reattaching their lips quickly. He brought his hands down onto her ass, gripping tightly before removing them from the door. Although they didn’t get very far and ended up on the comfy living room couch. There was no way they could handle stairs in their state, so the couch was good enough.

Really classy.

As soon as her back touched the soft surface, Harry was ripping her skirt and panty down her legs, and harshly tugged open her shirt that a few bottoms came right out of the seams. And if Y/N wasn’t drunk on alcohol and lust, she’d be beyond pissed.

But she really wasn’t one to talk, because she also ripped open his shirt, albeit not as rough but she’s pretty sure she ripped off one of his buttons too. Within a matter of seconds, the two were completely naked and beyond excited for what was to come. Literally.

Harry littered kisses up and down her body, mouth lingering longer on her aroused nipples, whilst he sank one then two fingers into her dripping hole. Y/N let out a breathy moan, lifting her lips up off the couch to push his fingers deeper inside of her.

“You’re so tight, Darling, and it’s just my fingers.”

He locked their lips in another passionate kiss as he pumped his fingers faster into her heat, gaining a few more moans out of that precious little mouth of hers. He hovered his lips over hers, speaking his next works huskily and softly that sent shivers down her spine, and made her pussy throb.

“Imagine me burying my cock into you. You squeezing me as I thrust into you, over and over again. Your warm walls holding onto me as I pound into you, absolutely wrecking you. Can you imagine it?”

Before she could say a single word, his thumb began working fast circles on her clit just as he continuously started to hit that special spot inside of her that had her seeing stars. The string of moans she let out could really put a pornstar to shame, and he didn’t even have his dick in her yet.

Was it embarrassing for her to be this much of a mess just from a simple fingering? Yes. But, just like the rest of the night, she lost the will to care.

“H-. . . Harry, please,” she whined as he switched the pace of his fingers to a slower rate, trying to prolong her orgasm for as long as he could.

He simply shook his head, denying her any satisfaction. Because as much as she was in charge out there, he was in charge here and he wouldn’t let her get what she wants so quickly.

Instead, he wanted to rile her up even more. With his free hand he brought it up to her breast, groping it roughly and then pinching her nipple between his thumb and first finger. And then he got an idea as he looked at the hickey that was starting to form on the side of her neck. He slowly trailed his fingers further up her chest, her collarbones, and eventually landing on the soft skin of her throat. He gently wrapped his hand around her throat to see what kind of reaction he could get out of her, and much to his surprise, her small hand wrapped around his wrist to, instead of pushing his hand away, push harder on her throat.

And if he wasn’t turned on then, he for fucking sure is now.

She loved the way his big hand was wrapped around her throat easily as if it had the smallest circumference. She loved the way it made it just the tiniest bit more difficult to breathe while he continued to ram her pussy with his fingers. And he loved just how much she loved it. “You naughty fucking girl. You like my hand around your neck don’t you? Does it turn you on?”

Y/N didn’t want to say anything, because as much as she was this confident woman, this moment was far too embarrassing, even for her. But, frustrated with no response, Harry pressed down more, using a deeper voice to elicit a response out of her.

“Answer me, Princess. I won’t continue if you don’t use your words,” he tsked, again slowing down his rhythm. Y/N groaned as his fingers practically came to a halt, bucking her hips up to continue the euphoric feeling inside of her.

“Plea–”

“Not until I get an answer.”

Y/N huffed, opening her eyes to look into his boring down on her. She bit her lip softly before nodding her head gently to respond to his previous questions.

“Uh-uh, I want words, Y/N. You love to talk, so c’mon, tell me.”

Groaning again, Y/N turned her head to the side to break eye contact. All she wanted was an orgasm, and she knew that within the next minute she was bound to burst and she hated that he was stopping her from reaching it. She took a breath and mustered up the courage to finally agree with his words, that yes it turned her on immensely.

“Y-yes. . . it turns me on,” she whispered. With that he smirked and removed his hand from her heat, making Y/N whimper at the loss of contact. But he couldn’t take it anymore, his erection becoming too unbearable that he had to ease his pain sooner rather than later.

Reaching down to his wallet to pull the condom out that he had stuffed in there a few nights ago, because he couldn’t be bothered to go upstairs to get his stash, he hastily ripped open the foil, careful not to rip the condom itself, and quickly rolled it onto his throbbing length.

He first pushed the tip in, giving her a few moments to adjust to his girth. Y/N completely lost it as he pushed further and further inside of her, back arching off the plush cushion as she cursed at the feeling of him stretching her. She widened the space of her legs, absolutely losing her mind as Harry’s face buried into her neck, the vibrations of his moans and groans shaking her body.

When he finally stopped, Y/N was quick to look down to see his cock was gone and deep inside of her body. She never felt so full in her life and she didn’t know how she was going to take him moving. The stretch came with a subtle burn that brought tears to her eyes. All good, of course.

“Harry, please move,” she begged, scraping her nails down toned back.

“Are you sure?”

“Fucking move.”

Then he slowly inched his length out before snapping his hips back against hers.

It was crazy that they were doing this.

Never in a million years did they think they would be having sex, each other’s names flowing out of their mouths so easily as their moans filled the air. The thought was always taboo for them but just this once they accepted their fates, and God, did it feel good.

It felt so good.

❊ ❊

When Y/N was finished explaining what had happened that one night two weeks ago – of course without the intense details – Flo sat with a smirk adorning her features.

Her eyes glowed, knowing she was right. She just knew this sort of thing was bound to happen. Next step, they were going to admit their undying love for each other and Flo couldn’t wait to get that news.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Y/N scolded.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” she shrugged. “. . So when’s the wedding?”

“Florence James!”

“Hey, I’m just dealing with the cards I’ve been dealt,” she raised her hands in defense.

“Can we just forget about him and get back to more important matters, like who assaulted my sister?”

Before Flo could respond, a knock sounded on the door to Y/N’s office. Yelling a quick come in, Y/N was quick to flip off her friend before whoever walked into the room.

Looking over her shoulder, Flo let out a laugh before getting up from her chair and then returning the hand gesture to Y/N. “Speak of the Devil,” she called as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry stepped into Y/N’s office, that annoying smirk ever so permanent on his features.

“Speaking about me, Princess?”

“You have two seconds to explain why you’re here before I stab you in the throat.”

“Relax,” he dragged out, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of the chair Flo was just sitting on before sitting himself down on it. “I come with good news.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, interested in what he could be talking about. She didn’t bother asking what good news, instead just waited for him to continue with whatever it was he had to say.

“You don’t have to worry about Jack anymore – Uh, the guy who. . . y’know, with Serena.”

To say Y/N was taken aback would be an understatement. She was so shocked that she had him repeat himself and explain what the fuck that was supposed to even mean.

“Look, I know I was harsh the other day. But when you left I got to thinking and. . . I know I would do anything I could if somebody hurt someone in my family. So, I got to asking around, turns out it was this guy Jack I had just fired and now you don’t have to worry about him,” he elaborated, clasping his hands together on his lap.

Y/N’s mind was in a whirlwind at this information, trying to process everything he just told her. It wasn’t a lot to take in but, it’s because he willingly helped her that had her in such a confused state. He had never done anything like this before and she was sure he wouldn’t do anything like it ever again.

But then she smiled. Genuinely smiled. Because he helped her. There’s no way she was going to let this one go. However, before she could gloat, she asked one very important question, “Is he alive?”

Harry gave her a knowing look, as if to say she should know him better than that.

Then she smiled again, even bigger than before. Because he killed someone for her and that – in their world – was the biggest sign of affection someone could give, because it meant that that someone meant something special.

“Fuck off with that smile,” he grumbled.

Y/N then stood up from her chair and walked over to him, standing in front of his seated figure, bringing her hand up to caress his jaw. “However could I repay you, Mr. Styles?”

It was then his turn to smile at her as he placed his hands on the back of her thighs and brought her to sit down on his lap.

“I can think of a few ways.”

And they were kissing like they never had before. This time they were so sober, it felt too real.

But they didn’t mind too much, because this moment felt like the start of something new.

#idk how to feel about the ending butttttt oh well :)#harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles #one direction fanfiction

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emotional-blender · 5 years

Text

sharing a bed.

warning: idk last half has some (what i think is) vaguely described sex.

i was thinking earlier about what sharing a bed with calum would be like, and about how your sleep would be affected by the amount of traveling he does. the first couple of days when he leaves for tour are rough. the bed is too big and the smell of him slowly fades away as weeks and weeks drag on. but duke always snuggles into the back of your knees as you curl up on your side for the night. at least you're not the only warm body in the bed you share. after the first couple nights you get used to it. it's easier to fall asleep, sleepily texting goodnights and fighting your sleep because timezones are bitches and sometimes he's three hours ahead of you. sometimes six. sometimes he's a couple behind. and for as long as it takes to get used to him being away from you, when he gets back? it takes nothing. when his body slips into bed next to you, exhausted from travel and shows and being social for weeks, it's like no time has passed. and on that first night after some much needed time refamiliarizing yourselves with each others bodies, you fall asleep naked under blankets. you stay curled up on his chest, an arm securely wrapped around you until he's just about to drift off for food. he iterrupts his own soft snores to turn over, facing you. but he keeps his arm around you, and you shift in it, snuggling in closer with your back against flush against his chest so he's spooning you. instead of the pillow you normally sleep on, your head rests on the firm muscle of his bicep and his other arm comes to wrap around your middle, hot skin against yours comforting you as you drift off to sleep. you never realize until he comes home how badly you sleep without him, because the first night is always like getting a full night's sleep you've been craving for months. you don't wake up until you hear the distinct sounds of duke's whining sometime early in the morning. you shift as calum shifts, burrowing deeper under the blankets as he sleepily wipes at his eyes and slips out of bed. you can hear his scratchy morning voice as he talks to the dog, so excited his human his home. "you gotta go, buddy?" he asks and duke responds by whining louder. you don't have to look to know that his whole body is wiggling, feet tap tap tapping on the floor as he does his morning pee dance. you know they won't be long. you can hear the familiar sounds of calum pulling on a paid of sweats and off they go, disappearing from the room only to return a few moments later. when he slides back into bed with you, his skin is cold and you whine a little at the temperature difference. "baby," the word leaves your mouth and even though you want to pull away from him because he's cold, you can't bring yourself to do it. instead you burrow close to him. the sweats are gone again and you let your legs tangle wit his as you press your forehead to the concave of his chest, staying there and not even caring that breathing against his skin this close leaves your face feeling a little moist from the enclosed space. his lips press one kiss against your lips and you feel duke's weight climb back up onto the bed, nestling himself into a little ball amongst the mess of feet inder the blankets. duke is snoring before either of you fall back to sleep, but even then, it doesn't take long.

that's how most nights go. sometimes you lay with your side flush against his as opposed to your back, one of your hands idly resting at the inside of his thigh as you drift away to sleep. sometimes, you just fall asleep cupping his dick, familiar with exactly how it feels both when it's soft and sleepy and when it's hard and ready for you. sometimes you sleep facing his beck instead of his chest, the same moist feeling hitting your face as you breathe into his skin, an arm wrapped around his middle and a leg slung over his. you press a few small kisses to his back and it's so easy to fall asleep that way too. you tend to move in sync with one another, turning from side to side so you're not breathing in each others faces. he pokes you awake in the middle of the night sometimes, mumbling about things that happened during the day and those are, honest to god, your favorite times of the day. because somehow at 4am, sandwiched between four hours of sleep on either side of whatever's happening, time stands still. the tv plays some netflix show on the background and you whisper bad hokes to each other until you're both laughing so hard your sides ache. they're not even funny jokes. you just love each other and the moment so much, and you're so close that the weird shared inside language you have that only either of you could understand, is so funny when neither of you has had enough sleep. sometimes instead of jokes it's things that are even dumber. sometimes it's shadow puppets on the wall behind you, and you argue about how to make a wolf because one of you is definitely doing it wrong.

sometimes your middle of the night break isn't full of laughter at all. sometimes you wake up to his hand rubbing softly at your back, his hips rolling into yours from behind. there's no words and you wonder, for a fleeting second, whether or not he's awake or dreaming. you sigh sleepily and nestle back into him, pretending to still be asleep while his hand moves to your bare stomach, softly rubbing the skin there instead. and this time when you press back against his hips it's with a purpose and he knows just as well as you do that neither of you are asleep. when his hand travels down between your legs there's nothing you can do to stop yourself from spreading your legs for him. his fingers find what he's looking for easily and there's no teasing here. a soft moan leaves you and you push back against him again. he let's out a groan of his own against your ear and you sigh contently. you're content for a few moments longer, til you're wet and slick for him, and then you can't help it, you have to move against him, turning onto your back and spreading your legs even more for him. he's quick to move his own leg, his heavy thigh pinning one of yours down so you can't close your legs again even if you wanted to. his fingers are moving faster now, dipping lower to the source of your wetness to aid him in making you feel good. you're already so sensitive from the day you've had that cumming doesn't take long. your back arches for him, trembling as he trails open mouthed kisses onto your neck and chest.

"good girl," his voice is raspy with lack of use, coated in sleep as he lets you ride out your orgasm, coaxes you down til you're almost ready to drift off again. but then he's hovering over you, lips pressing kisses to your collar bone and shoulders and you can't help but reach out for him. it's instinctive, the way you lift your kees for him. your arms wrap around his shoulders as he lines himself up and pushes into you. you gasp, head pressing back into the pillow as you let yourself get used to the stretch. it's uncomfortable but only for a moment before the discomfort gives way to pleasure as he starts moving inside of you, slow at first. you know this won't last long. it never does in the middle of the night, but you're going to enjoy every single moment of it. shifting a little under him, you lift your knees higher and whimper a little at the new angle. he nods against you, pressing his forehead to the crook of your neck as you bring hands up to his buzzed head, letting your nails scritch at his scalp as he fucks you. he picks up the pace a moment later, lifting his head and covering your lips with his and your mouth accepts his moans readily. he lets out a little grunt with every thrust into you and his hands are moving to your thighs. you've had yours; this is his but it doesn't mean you don't completely enjoy it. he lifts his body up as he moves quicker, and before you know it your knees are up by his shoulders and while he doesn't specifically put your ankles up there, the angle and the way he's burying himself deep inside of you over and over has you crying out over and over. there's still no words. both your moands and cries are inaudible and as calum lets out one distinctive whine, you know he's close. it's his tell. the whine and the way his hips jerk and he stops moving, trying to hold on just a little longer.

swallowing thickly you catch his eyes with yours, nodding your head at him and while he's still inside you you clench your muscles around him and whether her likes it or not, he can't hold on anymore. with one cry he starts moving again, quick shallow thrusts as he finishes, cumming inside of you with a series of moans and cries as his hands grasp at your thighs, squeezing tight and holding on. you know he's strong. there'll be the faintest finger tip shaped bruises there tomorrow and you might not be able to see them, but you'll be able to feel them as you walk. and you wouldn't have it any other way. he collapses on top of you and you hold him close, his head pressed to your chest as he weakly pulls out and lays on top of you. you'd let him stay there but your hips ache a little at the angle your legs are laying at, still spread as he lays between them. you push at his shoulders a little and he gets the idea, shifting and flopping onto his back. neither of you bother to clean up. instead you just curl up on his chest, and he reaches a hand up to your hair, smoothing it down on top and moving your messy bun so that it's not in his face. he doesn't hold you nearly as tight, spent from cumming, but his hand lays on your shoulder for a few moments before sleep takes him and it falls back to the mattress. you're out a moment later, muscles relaxed and pliant, like an overly mushy noodle. the sheets will have to be changed in the morning.

when you wake up, you're burrowed into the blankets and somehow you've ended up curled up on your side, calum pressed into your back the way he had been in the middle of the night. this time he's still snoring soundly and you groan a little, shifting under his arm. duke is whining and since you know you're the one who can hear him, and calum is still out, you know it's your turn. you slide out of bed and grab a pair of calum's sweats and a tshirt, calling it good enough as you and duke make your way out to the backyard. you impatiently stand with your arms crossed over his chest as he does his thing, ushering him back in and making sure his bowls are full before you go to the bathroom yourself. when you get back to the bed, calum's got his eyes close but you know he's awake because as you kick off the sweats and his shirt, he lifts the blankets for you to crawl back under.

"mornin's too cold," you whine but he doesn't say anything. he just pulls you close and presses a kiss to where ever his lips land on your shoulder. like always, a hand comes up to smooth your hair down and to move your bun from being in his way too much. both an arm and leg are slung over you as he holds you close, trying to cover as much of your body with his as he can. his warm skin against your cool skin is comforting and you nestle back against him easily, eyes closing, letting yourself drift off again because the only member of your small family who wants to be awake right now is duke, throwing his own toy around in the living room.

#calum hood #5sos #calum 5sos #calum hood blub #calum hood imagine #writing #fic #imagine #calum thomas hood #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum hood fic

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theassthatquits · 3 years

Text

Blupjeans Week Day 3 - Crush

The banners seemed to appear overnight, crowding the hallways and bathrooms and doors: “The dance is this Saturday! Ask your crush! It is the Valentine’s Day Dance after all.” Well, maybe they didn’t say all of that, but that was certainly the implication.

Barry was paralyzed with fear.

He had a crush on Lup since they were kids, pretty much starting the day on the playground when she and Taako approached him and declared that they were now Best Friends Forever and he had no choice in the matter. It was the best day of his life.

Lup and Taako had seamlessly folded into his life since then. His mother had taken an immediate liking to them and would make sure they were cared for and had everything they needed as they were moved around from place to place. The twins became a staple at the Bluejeans household, frequently staying days at a time. Barry, Lup, and Taako had become inseparable.

If he told her how he felt it could ruin everything.

“What the fuck is this?” Lup asked, picking up the flyer for the dance that just happened to be on her textbook sitting on the desk.

“What are you talking about now, Lulu?” Taako lazily asked, lounging on his bed filing his nails.

“This flyer for the dance. You put this here, didn’t you?”

Taako sounded bored. “I assure you, I had nothing to do with it.”

Lup groaned in exasperation. “I don’t want to think about Valentine’s Day and romantic dances. I just want to get through this year, graduate, and get the fuck out.”

“You sure you don’t want to ask a particular jeansed man out to the dance?”

Her glare would have struck fear into the heart of any other person but Taako. “I’m not asking Barry. There’s no way he would say yes and then our friendship would be ruined and I’d have to find a new best friend.”

Taako rolled his eyes. The two of them had been doing this for years and it might actually kill him. “So when are you planning on telling him, then?”

“When the time is right, I don’t know. Probably never.”

“Lulu, I love you to death and I mean this with all the kindness in my heart. I am so bored of this conversation. We’ve been having it for years. We’re graduating soon, there’s no guarantee we’re all going to the same spot, your time is running out.”

Lup crushed the flyer against her face, screaming into the void. “I know! Ugh. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now be a dear and pass me that polish. My nails have to look perfect for when I ask Kravitz to the dance.”

---

“You should ask her, Lucrecia. She’s a pretty cool girl and anyone would be lucky to take you to the dance.” Magnus, Lucrecia, and Barry were standing in front of Barry’s locker while Magnus was trying to convince her to ask out her crush.

“Ughhh, I don’t know, Magnus. We’ve, like barely talked.”

“That’s not true! I saw you two talking the other day.”

“Yeah, but I asked her for notes. That’s different, that’s school stuff.”

“I think I agree with Magnus, Creesh.” Barry shut his locker door and started shoving his textbook in his backpack. “She laughs at all your jokes in class, which is a great sign. I mean, we’re seniors. This is our last chance.”

Lucrecia gave him the biggest side eye. “Oh, yeah, Bluejeans? Are we talking about final chances and asking out crushes now? If you say it’s so easy, why don’t you go ask Lup?”

Barry’s face went pale. “Uhh, uhh. That’s different! Lup’s my best friend.”

“Mhmmm, okay. I’ll make you a deal, you ask Lup, I’ll ask Melora.”

“Ask Lup what?” Out of seemingly nowhere, Lup appeared in between Lucrecia and Barry. His eyes went wide and he began stammering.

“Uhh, nothing! Just one of the questions from last night’s reading.”

“Ahh, yes. Last night’s reading...which I totally did...because I definitely remembered to do it…”

Lucrecia laughed and passed Lup her notes. “Here, read through these before our class discussion.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!! You’re a life-saver.” Lup leaned in and planted a nice big kiss on Lucrecia’s cheek. Lucrecia winked at Lup as the bell rang and took off after Magnus, leaving Lup and Barry alone.

The two of them walked in uncomfortable silence, both of them wanting to say what they swore they never would. They passed by one of the many posters about the dance and Barry cleared his throat. “So the dance next week...are you going?”

“Oh, that thing? I hadn’t given it much thought at all,” Lup lied through her teeth. “I mean, it sounds like it could be fun, especially since we haven’t really gone to a dance at all.”

“Yeah! Do you...uh, do you want, um…” Barry kept stammering, his face fully red. Lup’s face lit up, hoping he was attempting to ask her to the dance.

“Do I what?”

Barry let out a deep breath to steady himself and began again. “Do you want to go -“

The bell rang loudly, cutting off the rest of his sentence. Barry swore under his breath.

“Shit, it’s like a four minute walk to calculus, I’ll catch you later?”

Lup swallowed a lump in her throat she hadn’t realized was there. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Once Barry was out of sight, she turned and rammed her body against the lockers with a little too much force.

“Lulu, that was...incredibly painful to watch.” Taako’s voice appeared behind her.

“Imagine how it felt to live it.”

“I don’t think I can, considering I walked right up to Kravitz, looked him in the eyes and said ‘you, me, dance?’”

“What did he say?”

“Yes, natch.”

“Congratulations, I’m so happy for you,” she said, not sounding happy for him at all.

He chuckled at that and grabbed her hand. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

—

Lup stood outside the school under the tree she always did waiting for Barry so they could walk back to his place together to do homework like they did every day. He was taking a little more time than usual but he occasionally got stopped after class to talk about nerd stuff with Lucas Miller.

“Hey, Lup.” A smarmy voice came from behind her and she turned around to see gorgeous jock Greg Grimaldis leaning against the tree, a smirk on his face.

“What’s up, my dude?”

“I don’t know if you heard, but I’m getting inducted into the school hall of fame for football this weekend.”

“Congrats?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the ceremony this Saturday. As my date.”

She was taken aback. Sure, Greg Grimaldis had flirted with her a lot the last four years but she was incredibly attractive, a lot of people hit on her. “Uh, Saturday is the dance.”

“Oh, that lame soirée? Yeah, I’ve been to a thousand like it, no thank you. Trust me, this is going to be a lot cooler.”

“Uhh..” Lup hesitated and then was interrupted by Barry appearing next to her.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Greg Grimaldis ignored him, like he always did, and turned to Lup. “You know, I’ll give you until tomorrow to think about it. See you then.” He winked and then ran his tongue over his teeth, sending shivers of disgust over her.

“Woah, what was that about?” Barry asked, watching Greg walk away, stereotypically throwing a football up into the air.

“He asked me to go to this stupid ceremony with him on Saturday as his date.”

“...oh.” His voice was scratchy and squeaky and he turned away from her. “Are you going to go?”

“I don’t know...Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Please give me a reason, please tell me I shouldn’t go.

Barry’s mouth was dry as he replied: “I mean, if you want to go you should go.”

Her heart dropped. “Uh, maybe I will go. It could be kind of fun, maybe ruin Greg’s big night.”

That got a slight, but fake, chuckle. “Sounds fun.”

They stood there in tense silence, not looking at one another before she finally broke it. “Guess we should get going, we have all that homework to work on.”

“Actually, Lup I’m not feeling too great. I kind of have a headache and my mom wants me to help out with some stuff at home, so if it’s okay with you I’ll just walk you to your place.”

Okay, that hurt. She faked a smile. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Usually their walks home are full of laughter, Lup reenacting some wild shit that had happened that day, Barry stopping to inspect weird flowers or trees, the two of them going out of their way to step on leaves and dance through the streets pretending that when they bump into one another it’s an accident.

Today, they didn’t say a word to one another.

—-

“Woah, what the fuck happened to you?”

Lup didn’t even register what Taako had said when she burst into their room, sobbing. He stood up quickly. “Okay, who the hell do I have to beat up?”

She didn’t say a word, just tackled him to his bed and buried her face in his chest. Normally, he would have complained about her ruining his shirt but he thought it best to not mention it. Until later, at least.

They sat there, Taako rubbing soothing circles on her back like he had done a thousand times until she had calmed down enough to talk. “He doesn’t like me, Ko.”

“What? This is about Barold? Oh my god.” He rolled his eyes and pushed her off of him. “How many times do we have to go through this? The two of you are ridiculous.”

“No, Ko, he really doesn’t like me. Greg Grimaldis asked me to go to this stupid ceremony with him on Saturday instead of the dance -“

“And you said no, right Lulu? Please tell me you said no.”

“- well, not exactly.”

“Oh my god.” Taako removed his arms from around her and covered his face. “I’m going to have to do so much fucking damage control.”

“I asked Barry! I asked him if he thinks I should say yes and Barry said, and I quote: ‘If you want to go, you should go.’ End quote.”

“Yeah, because he respects your autonomy as a human being. He’s not going to tell you to not go on a date because he is hopelessly in love with you. Gods, Lulu I thought you were smarter than this.”

“If he didn’t want me to go with Greg he should have said something!”

“Have you met the kid? He’s got the worst self-esteem of any of us. Lulu, please, I’m begging you as your brother: do not go out with Greg Grimaldis. Go call Barry, talk this out, please. I’m not doing this for either of you anymore, this is purely selfish. I am so tired of hearing about this.”

“I don’t want to call him! He’s made his choice, he doesn’t like me and I am going to die alone.” She flopped dramatically on the bed, covering her face with a pillow.

“You’re not going to die alone. Greg Grimaldis is going to be there.”

A pillow came flying at him. “Get out!”

“This is my room too, Lu.”

“I don’t care. I need some time. Go make googly eyes at Kravitz or something.”

Taako stood up and started walking towards the door.

“Fine, I’ll leave you to your moping. But when I get back you had better at least texted poor Barold.”

“Poor Barold???” Taako heard her voice loud and clear through the door even though he was halfway down the hall.

---

Lup spent an hour with her head under the pillow, an unrequited love playlist from fantasy Spotify playing on her phone, trying to fill the hole in her heart when all of a sudden her door burst open and Barry flew in, panting heavily like he had just run all the way here from his house.

“Lup!! Are you okay? Taako said you had a science emergency and you needed help right away or you were going to fail all your classes and die and now that I’m saying this out loud it sounds completely and totally fake.”

Lup took the pillow off of her head and turned to face him. “Barry, what the fuck is going on?”

“I could ask you two the same thing.” Taako’s voice boomed ominously from behind Barry who moved into the room to let him in. “I am done, finished, with the two of you. Neither of you are allowed to leave this room until I am satisfied with the results. Here’s some granola bars.” He purposefully aimed for Lup’s head and a couple of them bounced off. “Ciao.”

Taako left and shut the door behind him before either of them could say another word. Barry’s face was flushed red and he was still sweating from his run. “What is he talking about, Lup?”

She sighed and her voice got quiet. “Barry, I don’t want to go to the awards ceremony with Greg Grimaldis.”

If Lup had been paying any less attention she wouldn’t have noticed the light in his eyes return and the smile dance across his lips. “Yeah?” He cleared his throat, trying to cover up his happiness at that statement, then he sighed deeply. “I don’t want you to go to the awards ceremony with Greg Grimaldis.”

She smiled. “Yeah?”

“Of course not, Lup.” He moved to the bed, sitting down next to her. “I want you to come to the dance with us. We’ve gone through our whole lives together, I don’t want the first dance I go to to be without you. Who else am I going to make fun of people with?”

“Taako.”

“You know he’s going to be hanging on Kravitz all night.”

“True.” There was a brief silence. “Barry, is the only reason you want me to come is so you have someone to make fun of people with?”

Several knocks came from the closed door, making both Barry and Lup jump. “Barry I swear if you fuck this up I will cut up all of your jeans.”

Lup threw a pillow against the door. “Go away, you prick!” She turned back to Barry, his face bright red. “What does he mean by that?”

Sighing again, Barry takes out his phone and opens it. “Lup, I don’t know how to say it. But I have something that hopefully will get the meaning across. I was going to show this to you but then I saw you with Greg Grimaldis and I -” Lup put a finger up to his lips silencing him.

“What is it?”

“It’s, uh, a song. I wrote it. It’s called ‘Endless Lup’.”

He pressed play on the song and Lup was immediately transfixed. Barry could only play the piano and definitely couldn’t sing so there weren't any lyrics to follow but she could feel his affection for her nonetheless. She sat there, mouth slightly agape with tears in her eyes until the song ended. Neither of them spoke for several moments.

“Barry, that’s -”

“It’s too much, I’m sorry.” He turned away from her, running his hand through his hair.

Wordlessly, she touched his shoulder and turned him back towards her. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

He flushed. “Good, because I wrote it for you.”

“Lup if you don’t fucking kiss this poor man, I will!!”

“Is that a promise?” Barry yelled back before Lup tackled him, bridging the distance between them.

@blupjeansweek2021

#blupjeansweek2021 #barry bluejeans #lup #taz balance #barry is both of the twins best friends

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thebadassfoundation · 3 years

Text

Never Stop Beginning

I started the journey of this blog and brainstorming the concept of the BADASS foundation with the idea that it would be a platform to speak out against domestic violence and empower women to rise up against their abusers. And while I do still fully intend to use it for those things, the purpose I've found in this project is actually so much simpler than I could've ever imagined. But life has a topsy turvy, upside down, ass backwards of all our plans, illogical and oxymoron way of doing things. And that's the ass backwards spot I find myself in. Closing the book called The First 30 years.

"Trust the journey" and "never stop beginning" are two phrases I've held on to since my life starting falling apart in December 2020. I lost my job and my place to live in Bunker Hill, WV the week before Christmas, In January of 2021 I found myself with a broken heart from the fuckboy I'd wasted over a year loving and a betrayal from a friend I called a brother. Penniless, carless and with quite a bit fewer friends than I thought, this 30 year old grown ass woman sucked up her pride and called her mommy to come take her home to PA…

You see, my narcissistic abuser was the reason I found myself living in the Wild and Wonderful West Virginia in November 2018. He held a kitchen knife over my head, got kicked back to the state his criminal probation was sentenced, and my dumb ass followed him and the bullshit promises of it never happening again. Yeah, we'll get to all that later. But West Virginia meant something to me. I'll share my Facebook post in a separate blog when I had to leave that house. It was the place I defeated my narcissist… or so I thought.

"Trust the journey."

I've always known there's a hand of destiny on my life. That I was meant for something more. And the topsy turvy destiny of my life was very much at play. I thought everything was falling apart. I thought I was a failure. And I didn't want to live anymore because of it. Irony of ironies, the thought of my mother losing her husband, my father, and a daughter just broke my heart to the point I couldn't actually swallow the bottle of pills I had next to me. But I had to come to this moment, this revelation. I had to see the big picture, why my 20's were such an epic shit show. I had to come back to the beginning.

"I think my mother's only hugged me like twice in my life," my voice faded off as I turned around to look at Tim. He's great when I need to think out loud because he just lets me process. My eyes got big and it hit me. 30 years made sense now. "Holy shit, my mother's a fucking narcissist." This revelation coming mid-rant over the way she views the word "Fuck," which is basically every other word of my very colorful vocabulary. But according to my mother, you might as well just go burn in the fiery pits of hell now, and she made sure we knew that we'd be "kicked out of her house" for saying it. Because women and children being raped, abused and murdered isn't a priority, and as long as you say "fiddlesticks" instead, all is right in the world. Well, me being me, I couldn't keep quite on this revelation. At this point I still didn't want to admit it, even to myself. I mean, this was my mom. I spent the last 30 years loving her. She couldn't really be a narcissist… But once you see it, you can't unsee it.

I'm not a mother myself, but I've been a stepmother for a period of time. And I know the love my father had for me. So in the midst of a conversation with my mother where I confronted her on several things that had been irritating my soul like a scratchy sweater, a non-narcissistic mother with genuine, authentic love in her heart… wouldn't have been wearing a smirk on her face. And that look I saw is permanently seared in to memory. I know she didn't mean for her mask to slip like that, they never do. And she was quick to conjure up some tears when I brought it to her attention then shut the tears off like a light switch when I said "your games don't work here."

It all made sense. I was the first born daughter, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the love my daddy had for me from day 1. Though oddly enough, my dad and I never did have a good relationship when I was younger, and we're so much alike. But we were the best of friends for the last two years of his life, something I'll always be so grateful for, especially knowing what I know now. My sister and I have never gotten along in the slightest, like a wall was put between us before we were born. But she was the star child, and I just couldn't seem to live up to the expectations. And the narcissist twisting and manipulating in the background, always "the innocent victim," the only one apart from the broken relationships who didn't understand why we couldn't just all get along… the common denominator - my mother.

The smirk said it all. It was a look of that evil, cold-hearted monster I've come to know as narcissism. And I knew my mother had never loved me. She was not capable of feeling emotion that I, as an empath, feel all too intensely. The toxic boyfriends, the insecurity and feelings of failure I'd always had, the need to have love from a man to feel good enough. It all made sense when I saw the smirk on her face as I fought back tears, confessing that I wasn't sure if my mother even loved me. And that was the moment when I became an orphan at 30 years old.

"Never stop beginning."

So here I am. Closing the book on The First 30 Years and starting this exciting new journey and the BADASS foundation. The purpose and message of this journey now so clear and so incredibly simple - YOU ARE ENOUGH. YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN ENOUGH.

I know how bad the hurt hurts, I know the gut wrenching sobs as you feel your heart ripping inside your chest. So feel those feelings but don't stay there. Because even though that hurt really fucking hurts, we get to feel happiness and love with that same intensity. It's in the hurt and the heartbreak where your power lies. We fall, we get stepped on, walked over, we break, we curl up in a ball and cry… But WE WILL ALWAYS RISE. And that is what will always make us more powerful than the narcissist.

So thanks for reading. I hope you stick around for this journey with me because I can feel it in my bones - This is just the beginning!

We are strong. We are brave. We are fierce. We are BADASSES.

I love you, Baby Girl. You've got this! ~Sara XOXO

#narcissistic relationship #narcissistic parents #narcissistic mother #thebadassfoundation speakoutagainstabuse

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atths--twice · 4 years

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So... when I wrote these stories a couple of years ago, I kept the pregnancy stories in real time, updating it every month. As that’s not necessary, I hope you’re enjoying this... elapsed time frame of pregnancy, : ) Here we go...

The Seventh Month 3/6

Mulder and Scully spend the day shopping for baby items, facing and dealing with past guilt, and coming to resolutions.

August 2018

Scully sat in the bath, her head back, and her eyes closed. She let the scent of jasmine permeate her senses as she relaxed in the water, Mulder humming and singing in the shower as she did.

Mulder had treated her to breakfast in bed after treating her to wonderful morning sex. He was extremely careful and concerned about their lovemaking recently, following the doctor’s orders at the last checkup. He took his time and always made sure she was okay. She loved him more in those moments than any other, when his focus was solely on her care, and then her pleasure.

She sighed and then lightly moaned. Even with the ease they were taking, her body would be a little sore after. Having a growing baby pressing.. everywhere, would do that to a person. He had drawn her the bath after she expressed some aching.

He had looked at her with concern, opened his mouth to say what she was sure would be something she did not want to hear, so she had silenced him with a kiss. A kiss that left him panting, as he had looked at her with desire in his eyes. She had raised an eyebrow and he huffed out a growl, but nodded his acceptance.

He had surprised her with jasmine bubble bath and by the look on his face as he took off her robe, she knew what he was thinking about. A night long ago when he stood nervously in his bedroom, jasmine scented candles filling the room, waiting to see her reaction. The love they expressed in words and then with their bodies that night, would forever remain locked in that scent.

“So I was thinking we should go get some baby stuff today,” Mulder called out over the sound of the shower, breaking into her thoughts. “Maybe hit up Ikea or a baby store. Didn’t you say the girls at the hospital were throwing you a baby shower? We should make one of those registry list things for what we’ll need.”

“You want to do that today? On a Saturday? It’s going to be pretty packed,” she said, eyes still closed, raising her voice to be heard over the shower.

“Eh, we’ll be okay. We need to get the stuff sorted before the time gets too close. We could get some lunch, then pick out paint colors for the bedroom?” he said, his words muffled at times as he washed.

“My my, aren’t you the busy little bee?” she teased him. “How about we flip the plan and pick out colors first? Then we can see which color crib and whatever we get looks best." She ran her hands along her stomach, smiling as she felt the baby moving, apparently happy with that plan.

The water turned off and the shower door opened. Mulder stepped out, grinned at her, and grabbed a towel. He dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around his waist, as he put in his hair product and ran his fingers through it. She watched him clean the steam off the mirror and look at himself as he stroked his face.

“You gonna shave?” she asked, knowing he was debating it.

He turned to her and met her eyes. “You don’t like the scruff? I think it gives me the rugged look,” he said as he stroked his face, smiling at her.

“Hmmm ...” she said, swirling her fingers around the bath water. “True. But ... it’s scratchy sometimes in ... places.” She gave him a look and watched his eyes widen as he swallowed.

“Didn’t hear you complaining earlier,” he said leaning against the sink, acting a little too casual. She knew he was trying to appear as if her words did not affect him.

“Well ...” she said, holding his gaze as she raised an eyebrow. “Earlier your face wasn’t where the scratchiness causes a ... problem.”

He exhaled and stared back. She saw him swallow again and then he cleared his throat, as he turned and reached for the shaving cream and razor. She chuckled, and he met her eyes in the mirror, as he put the shaving cream on his face. She stared him down, his eyes creating a liquid fire in her veins. God, there was a possible chance they might not make it out of the house today.

He finished shaving and walked over to her. Helping her out of the tub, he let the water out and then dried her off, kissing places he met along the way. He pulled her toward him, as he knelt in front of her and kissed her hips, her inner thighs. He rubbed his smooth face across her skin, causing a breathy laugh, then a gasp as he moved closer to his goal.

She tugged gently on his hair, and he took the hint, rising to his feet and leading her to the bed. He helped her lie down and then settled back down to business. He kissed her center, his tongue sliding in and tasting her. She gripped the sheets and opened her legs wider, silently asking him to love her with his mouth. She started panting and felt her orgasm approaching. He continued using his mouth and then slid two fingers in and out, driving her over the edge. She breathed his name over and over, holding onto the sheets for dear life. Her heart racing as he joined her on the bed.

He made love to her again, slowly, both of them breaking together, calling out each other’s names. She was pleasantly surprised at his ability to be ready so soon again after their morning romp. She expressed so to him as he lay next to her, still joined, her fingers in his hair as he lay with his head at her throat. He laughed and raised his head to kiss her, tasting herself on his tongue as she moaned into his mouth. He pulled back, his eyes mirroring the desire she felt.

“You taste so delicious, Scully. Your scent, your eyes, and Jesus, your words. I don’t have a need for any little pills when I’ve got a gorgeous redhead telling me that if I shave, I’m guaranteed to spend some time in my most favorite place.” He whispered before kissing her again, his tongue sending jolts of desire to her core.

She laughed as she pulled back, stroking his smooth face. She kissed him again and began to untangle herself from him. They did need to get out and get items for the baby. They had nothing planned and only two months to go. As much as she would love to spend the day in bed with him, they needed to go. He had to help her up and they both laughed at how the simplest task was made harder with a big pregnant belly in the way.

A short time later, she was smiling as the wind blew through the windows, and they headed down the road. She had her eyes closed, letting the wind cool her down and bring her a sense of calm.

“So, where to first boss?” he asked, as he reached for her hand and held it loosely in his own, turning to her with a grin.

She turned her head toward him, opening her eyes. “Hardware store for paint samples and possibly ordering the paint to be picked up later. Then the baby store, then ... Ikea. It’s going to be busy regardless of time, so let’s save it for last,” she said, squeezing his hand. He smiled at her and nodded.

“Then ... Mulder, if it’s not too late, I’d like to stop by Melissa’s grave,” she said quietly. “Having the stuff from my mom’s place at the house, has had me thinking about her and Melissa. I wish mom knew her last words had not been said in vain and we found William. I wish she knew about this baby and she and Melissa were the ones planning the baby shower, not the women at work ...” She trailed off and sighed.

He looked at her and squeezed her hand. “First. We’ll go there first, Scully. It shouldn’t be an afterthought or if we have time. We’ll go there first, okay?” She nodded and wiped her eyes with her other hand. She closed her eyes again, holding his hand tightly, and took a deep breath.

They stopped at a florist shop on the way to the cemetery where they picked out white roses and yellow daisies, flowers Melissa had always loved. Mulder paid for them and asked that they be wrapped together.

Pulling up close to Melissa’s grave, Mulder turned off the car. He got and opened her door for her, helping her out and handing her the flowers.

“Take all the time you need, okay? If you need me, I’m here,” he said softly, as he stroked her cheek. She nodded and touched his hand, before turning and walking over to the grave. He knew. Without her saying anything, he knew she wanted to be alone and take some time.

She laid the flowers down and stood looking at the headstone, as the usual guilt rose to the surface. If she had just waited, she would have been home and armed. No one would have gotten in and Melissa would still be alive. Melissa had not deserved to die for this quest that Scully willingly participated in, but had never wanted or expected to reach those she loved.

Talking out loud to her sister seemed odd and like something people only really did in movies. She thought about what she wanted to say instead. The apologies she made every time she was here, which was not enough, and the things that had transpired recently. Mulder, William, this new baby. How she wished she could share it all with her. To hear Melissa’s take on the connection she and William shared. She laughed and then choked on a sob, putting her face in her hands at the same time she felt a hand on her back.

Mulder. She had not even heard his approach, but there he was, right when she needed him. He rubbed her back and she turned into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. He held her as she cried, saying nothing, simply offering his strength.

They stood there holding each other, as her tears subsided. She pulled away, but kept her arm around his waist. A few minutes passed and then she squeezed his side, nodding as she pulled back and turned around. When he did not follow, she turned back.

She watched as Mulder placed a hand softly on Melissa’s headstone. He murmured something she did not hear, then stepped back and walked toward her. He reached for her hand and they walked back to the car.

She was quiet for a bit as they headed toward the hardware store, many thoughts still swirling around, and her guilt still weighing heavy upon her. She needed to let it go, to find that point where she finally could. It would not be today, but she would keep trying. She breathed deeply, gave a little shake, and then gave him a small smile. It was the best she could do.

When they arrived in the paint section of the hardware store, they had quite a debate over which colors they wanted. Neither of them wanted pink or purple, even if they knew for sure it was a girl. Scully was not a “pink kind of girl," she explained as they looked at the samples. He looked at her pointedly, as if he did not know everything about her.

Finally, after much back and forth, they picked a light slate blue for every wall but one, which would be beige. The sand and the sea, Mulder said and Scully smiled. Without really intending to, they had settled on colors that had connections to their childhoods. Scully growing up near the ocean, him near lakes and the ocean.

They ordered the paint, picked out all the supplies and arranged to pick it up on the way home. The man working at the counter was incredibly kind and told them he and his wife owned the store. He said if they had other purchases to make, they could pick up the items when it was best for them. They thanked him kindly and headed back to the car.

Scully took out her phone as they buckled in, to get directions to the baby store .

“Baby Mine?” Mulder asked, as he looked at her screen. “Seriously?”

She looked up at him as she programmed the address in and hooked the phone up to the holder. “And what’s wrong with that store? They have really nice stuff. I was looking at the website the other day. There is a really cute crib I want to check out,” she said, as he backed up the car and began to drive.

“The name though,” he said, waiting for the light to change to get on the highway. “That has to be the worst name for a baby store, ever.” He shook his head and proceeded as the light changed.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” she asked him, completely confused.

“Dumbo, Scully. Didn’t you ever see that movie as a kid? People always say how Bambi is so sad, and it is ... Jesus, but Dumbo ...” he said shaking his head slowly.

He glanced at her and saw her perplexed look. He sighed. “In the circus, the people were allowed to come up and see the animals. Some asshole kid was making fun of Dumbo’s big ears, of which that kid had some himself, and then he was teasing and poking at Dumbo. His mother protected him. She spanked that kid with her trunk, and that little fucker deserved it, but they locked her up because she went after him. They put her in chains, away from her baby,” he was almost shouting as she tried to remember the movie.

“So, he’s all alone before he finds that mouse. He takes Dumbo to visit her in her train car jail and she put her trunk out to find him and he reached his up to find her." He stopped talking, shaking his head and breathing deep.

“He was so happy to see her, to feel her, he hugged her trunk and she slid hers down. She rocked him in her trunk and that “Baby Mine” song played and Jesus Christ ... it made me sob like a goddamn baby,” he said, his voice breaking.

She looked at him and felt tears in her eyes. She could not remember that movie that clearly, but of course he would. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white. He shook his head again.

“My mom almost had to take us out of the theater because Samantha and I were crying so hard,” he said, his voice quieter now. “The movie was rereleased when I was eleven and Samantha was eight. My mom took us as a special treat and had no idea we would react that way. She held Samantha on her lap, but I was too big and should have been past such emotional outbursts.”

Scully scoffed and looked at him with disapproval. “Because you were eleven? You shouldn’t have emotions anymore? That’s ridiculous. You were still a kid.”

“Scully, it was the 70’s and it was my family. My father especially. “Have to be a man” and all that bullshit,” he said by way of explanation. “My mother never told him how I reacted. She kept it between us. She and I were closer for about a week after that, before I moved on to other things. I was up late one night, years ago, and that movie was on some channel. It got to that part and I cried like a baby again." He shook his head and laughed as he glanced at her.

She smiled back, put a hand on his leg, and squeezed. He took a hand off the steering wheel and held onto hers. He squeezed it and she squeezed back. He shook his head again and she stared at him with a smile. His passion and emotional expression, was and had always been, something she dearly loved.

The store approached and they turned into the parking lot. It was a large store with cute window displays. Scully unbuckled her seat belt and started to gather her things, when she heard Mulder sigh. She looked at him and saw he was looking at the store sign.

“An elephant, Scully. The sign has an elephant on it." He stared at her, but she could see he was beginning to smile.

She smiled and kissed him, then stepped out the door. He met her at the front of the car, looked at the sign again and shook his head. He opened the door for her and walked in behind her.

They spent the next couple hours looking at cribs, strollers, clothes, sheets, toys, car seats, and books. Scully watched Mulder’s eyes widen as the sales assistant kept suggesting items. He asked about a registry and happily took the scanner gun and went off adding things to it.

Scully found the crib she was looking for, in a beautiful dark chocolate color. She asked them about it, before adding it to their purchases. She sat in one of the glider chairs for a while “testing it out” before deciding on which one to buy. The motion began to make her sleepy, when Mulder came up to her, holding an outfit with spaceships and aliens on it. He grinned at her and she smiled back. He helped her up and they continued their shopping.

By the time they had filled a registry, picked out the bigger items, loaded up the car with their purchases, and arranged for delivery of certain items, Scully was ready to get some lunch.

They found an Italian restaurant nearby and ordered their meal. Scully ate all of hers and half of Mulder’s before he laughed and ordered an extra plate of pasta. If she did not have a hungry baby growing inside her, she would have been embarrassed to eat as much as she did. As it was, she simply laughed and grabbed the last piece of bread.

She watched Mulder swirl the pasta on his fork then messily shove it in his mouth. She reached over and wiped his mouth. He winked at her, his eyes burning a fire in her, as she remembered a barbecue place where she experienced very unpartnerlike feelings for him. She smiled as she shook her head and he tilted his head to the side, silently asking her what what she she was thinking about.

“You know, Mulder,” she said with a mischievous smile. “All the things that we bought today- the crib, the bassinet, the changing table, the stroller, and then whatever else we buy, you have to put together.”

He blinked at her and swallowed his bite. “What exactly are you implying, Scully?” he asked with a smile of his own. She raised her eyebrows and stared at him.

“I put the bookcase in the living room together, if you recall,” he said to her, as if that proved his point.

“Oh, I recall,” she said, reaching for her water and giving him a look.

He stared at her. “The books only fell off one time, Scully.” She nodded her head, twirling her straw around her drink, staring in the cup, then looked up at him. They had a stare down as she let him realize what he just said. He finally sighed, nodded, and took another bite.

“I’ll call Skinner. You know he’s got a toolbox full of tools he never really gets to use,” he said, his mouth full.

She snorted and nodded. “I’m sure he will be more than happy to help once he hears about the bookcase.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said staring at her, his fork frozen on the way to his plate.

“Tell him one of the reasons we have books on the stairs and on so many surfaces is because you are not exactly a “handy” handyman? That bookcases and other things that need to be put together are not exactly your forte? No.. I’d never dream of it,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He narrowed his eyes at her and she started laughing. He shook his head and began to ready another bite.

“It’s okay, Mulder. You don’t have to be good at everything. The things you are good at, make up for the ones you are not. More than make up for it,” she said with a look.

He paused with the fork in midair and stared at her. She watched his eyes realize what she said and how it made him react. He swallowed, shook his head, and shoved his bite in his mouth. She could not understand the words he said as he mumbled around his bite. She laughed and took another drink.

They left the restaurant a little while later, full of delicious food, and laughing as they discussed whether it was truly necessary to go to Ikea. They ticked off the items they had and what else was needed. A dresser, maybe a rug, shelves, or a bookcase. The car was kind of full, but they could move some stuff around.

They pulled into the parking lot and they looked at each other as if wishing the other safe travels on their journey. Seeing how crowded the parking lot was did not bode well for the hope of a small amount of people on the inside.

Scully grabbed a cart and they went up in the elevator to begin meandering through the store. They passed through the living room and kitchen sections. Scully walked through the little “apartments” they had set up to show the use of minimal space. She always found them interesting and somewhat cozy feeling. All the stuff that was needed in one small area. It made a person really think about what was truly important.

She glanced at Mulder as she looked around one of the rooms. She thought about how they had lived when they were on the run. The clothes on their backs, minimal extras, just each other. She had learned then what was truly important. The man she loved at her side was all she needed to make her feel complete. Everything else, that was an afterthought and so minuscule to what was truly needed in life.

Mulder was watching a mother and her children looking at things by him. He was smiling at the kids and said something to the mother that made her smile and then they both laughed. She walked away and Scully walked up to him. He was watching the mother and smiled at Scully as his head turned back toward her.

She reached up and kissed him, surprising him for a second, before he put his hands lightly on her hips and kissed her back.

“What was that for?” he asked, placing his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, her hands lightly holding his upper arms.

He pulled back and smiled at her. “I’m sorry ma’am, but I’m taken. Have you seen a gorgeous, pregnant, redhead walking around here? She gets awful angry when I kiss random strangers.” She laughed and put her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, his laughter mixing with hers as they held to each other, the other shoppers rushing past.

He rubbed her back and still chuckled. He put his mouth by her ear. “The feeling is mutual Ms. Scully. So much more than mutual,” he breathed, giving her the chills. She pulled away from him, patting his chest as she stepped back with a smile. Grabbing the cart, she started walking again.

They picked out a bookcase and a dresser, both in dark brown, then moved onto the children’s section. It was packed, but they navigated it easily. Since they had already purchased many items, they had an idea of what they needed.

Mulder put almost every stuffed animal in their cart, but not the elephant she noticed, then started to walk away. Scully grabbed his arm and brought him back. She looked at the animals and then at him.

“Yes, Scully, all of them." He smacked a loud kiss on her and walked away.

She shook her head and kept walking around. She checked out the curtains and the rugs, picking a gray rug with stars that she knew Mulder would enjoy. She did not find any curtains she liked, so she went to find Mulder.

She found him with his arms full of toys, checking out the others on the shelves. He saw her and sighed with relief. “There you are,” he said as he set the stuff down in the cart. “What do think about these?”

She looked at all the things he added to the cart and she shook her head. “Mulder, no. We don’t need all these toys. The baby won’t even be playing with anything really, for six months, at least. Wooden trains, kitchen toys, wooden figures. Mulder, we don’t need these right now,” she said, putting them back on the shelf.

“Scully!” he said, trying to stop her.

“Mulder, the baby doesn’t need all these toys, and they will just clutter up the house for now." She tapped his chest, forcing him to raise his sad eyes to hers. “We’ll come back, okay?” He nodded his head, his lip sticking out a bit in a pout.

“Good. I’m glad we could easily reach that compromise." She put all the toys back, except the stuffed animals, shaking her head. As she walked past him she said under her breath, “What a baby.”

“I heard that,” he said, grabbing the cart from her and bumping her shoulder. He stared at her and then smiled.

They took the elevator back down and walked through the remaining rooms, grabbing a couple of lights for the room and heading to the warehouse. They traded their cart for a flat one, adding the items they were looking for to their other items, and headed for the checkout lines.

The lines were at least eight people deep. Mulder grinned at her and walked away. She rolled her eyes and leaned against the cart. Her back was aching a little and her feet were tired.

She moved up a couple spots in line when Mulder walked back with two ice cream cones and a bag of bulk candy under his arm. He smiled as he handed her hers and set the candy in the cart. She smiled her thanks as she ate her ice cream and eyed the bag of candy.

“It’s all chocolate, in case you were wondering what I picked,” he said, as he licked the side of his cone.

“Good man,” she answered him. He chuckled and they ate their cones as they waited in line.

Once they had paid, repacked the car so everything fit, with Mulder lifting his arms and proclaiming, “Tetris!” while she laughed, they were on their way home.

They pulled up to the house and Scully grabbed a few bags and went in to start some dinner. Mulder unloaded the car and set all the stuff in a corner of the living room. He had said there was no need to put it all upstairs until the room was painted and he would be doing that soon.

After they ate their meal, they took stock of the big items they had purchased: a crib, bassinet, changing table, stroller, dresser, bookcase, some lights, and a rug. They also had some smaller items: the stuffed animals, the spaceships outfit and some others, crib sheets, and a couple lightweight blankets.

The crib mattress and glider chair would be delivered in a couple of weeks since they were in no immediate hurry, and had painting to do first. Car seats and other items would be ordered online after they searched for the ones they wanted. The registry was full of items they could use that were not too overwhelming in price. Mostly clothes, storage items, pacifiers, little toys, bottles, nursing pillows, more blankets, and bath items.

Scully shook her head at the amount of stuff in the house and still what was needed. God, a baby needed a lot of shit for something so small. Mulder suggested they go upstairs and look in the other room to get an idea of how they wanted it to be arranged.

There was stuff stored in there that they would need to go through, but not too much, thankfully. They looked around and discussed which wall to paint which color, where the placement of items would be best, and laughed about how insane it was they were having this discussion. Planning for a baby was never something they had thought of, nor expected, yet there they were.

Mulder went downstairs to straighten up and lock up the house as Scully used the bathroom and changed for bed. She got under the covers and sighed as she put her head on her pillow. It had been a long day. A long “normal” day and god knew they needed those kinds of days. She was tired, but happy, with all they had accomplished. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Mulder came barging in the room in his usual Mulder way- like a puppy whose legs were too big for its body. He hummed as he changed and used the bathroom. He slid under the sheets and cuddled up behind her, pulling her close. He kissed her temple and laid his head on his pillow.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Then Scully spoke, asking a question that had been on her mind all day.

“Mulder?” she asked, seeing if he was awake.

“Hmmm?” Came his sleepy reply.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but ... I was just curious what you said at Melissa’s grave today,” she said quietly.

He pulled her tighter and took a breath, nuzzling her neck. “I told her I was sorry,” he said quietly into her hair. “Then I thanked her.” Scully’s heart pounded and her breath caught. She started to ask what he meant when he spoke again.

“I thanked her, Scully, because ... you were the target. Someone was sent to kill you. Use you as a pawn again and take care of loose ends. They thought I was dead, and needed you gone too. If I had come back and found you ...” He gripped her as tight as he could with the baby blocking him. “I didn’t want her to die. I would have protected her if I could, but I, we, weren’t there. But if I had lost you, Scully, I would have lost everything. Even then, you were the only thing I gave a damn about. You, your safety, you, Scully. I never wanted anyone to get hurt, but if I had lost you ...” He took a shuddering breath, as tears fell from her eyes. She gripped the hand he had around her belly.

“I thanked her, Scully, because as perverse as it sounds, and I’m sorry that it does, I’m thankful it wasn’t your grave I visited today,” he whispered, as she cried.

She turned over and held his face in her hands. She cried, putting her forehead against his, and tried to catch her breath. She felt a weight, that had been sitting on her, begin to dissolve. He said what she was so afraid to say. So terrified to voice her relief without sounding as if she was okay her sister had died, had been killed in her place. She had to reassure him, to tell him he was not alone.

“Mulder,” she whispered, her voice still shaking. “For so long, the guilt of that night has weighed on me- if I had only been there, if I had waited for her instead of leaving, so many if’s. The worst guilt was that I lived and she died." She stopped and took some sobbing breaths. “I thought of how it would have been if it had been me who was killed. You alone, on your own, the guilt you would have felt..” she gasped out a cry.

“Alone I could handle, Scully. Alone without you ... was a future I could not foresee. It’s ... it’s not a future I ever want again,” he whispered to her.

She took big breaths, her eyes closed. “I have felt guilty relief that it wasn’t me who died, for years. I don’t visit her often enough because of that guilt, but I know I can’t do that anymore. I need to let that go. She would tell me the same thing. Call me foolish and silly for holding this like a poison inside me. That everything happens for a reason and it was how it was supposed to be. So many things, Mulder. So many things have happened, I have to believe she would be right. I need to.” She lifted her head and looked in his eyes.

He had tears in them and she wiped them away. They stared at each other, both feeling that guilt and that messed up form of relief. She pulled him close and held him with his head in her neck. They held each other, as Mulder whispered his love and comfort to her.

She thought of Melissa and how she would look at her, knowing she had held her guilt for so long. How it had blocked her from her grief and kept her from expressing it. The guilt she felt sitting in her like a clogged drain, allowing only so much through, but leaving the core problem behind. She knew Melissa would not want that for her.

She took a deep breath and whispered to Mulder she wanted to do it together, to let that guilt free. He breathed into her neck and she took a breath. Together, they let that guilt release from their lives, letting the two people affected most by her death, breathe easier than they had in years.

Scully stayed holding him for awhile. The silence in the room bringing a peaceful feeling into her heart. Mulder pulled back from her, lying back on his pillow, bringing her with him. She lay her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, her hand gripping his shirt.

“As much as it hurts and makes us feel like shit, it’s good we’re doing this, Scully,” he said quietly, squeezing her arm and kissing her head. She lightly chuckled, a sob punctuating her feelings. “I’m serious. This breaking us down, will help us move forward. I don’t want to hide our feelings from each other anymore. Jesus, Scully, that has not led us anywhere good and I don’t want that to happen again. Never again, Scully.”

She nodded against his shoulder. He was right. No more hiding how they felt or what they thought. This was their second chance. Fuck that, it was more like the millionth chance to get their shit together.

She wrapped her arm around him and took a deep breath. “No more hiding, Mulder. Reason and faith in harmony is hard to achieve if the harmony is off key. We’ll just need to keep fine tuning this old song until it’s perfect,” she said, sleep beginning to take over.

“I don’t know if we will ever achieve “perfect,” Scully, but we will keep strumming the tune until we get it right. A million and one will be our lucky number." He pulled her closer, his voice sleepy once again.

She smiled. A million and one, that seemed like a fitting number. Each of them on opposite ends, two opposing viewpoints, but with paths shaped like circles in between so they could never stray too far from each other. Scully snuggled closer to him and he softly breathed her name.

A million and one. It was about time they got it right.

_________________________________________________

I love writing Mulder and Scully happy and being “normal.” Finally reaching that point where they can move forward and be together, no more problems weighing them down.

Of course, they have to have the bad and feel the guilt to get to the happiness they deserve. But, they are finally realizing it and facing it head on instead of hiding it and keeping it buried down deep. They will be better people and better parents, to BOTH of their children, for it.

And.. man oh man, is Mulder going to spoil this baby.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Family Life: The Story Beyond the Series #Happiness #A little bit of angst #Preparing for the new baby #Making plans for the future #Little bit of morning sex to start the day

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